My Messed Up Life
by memoranda
Summary: WARNINGS: Repeated kidnappings, excessive use of the word crap, beeps in the place of swears, blood, child abuse, country lookalikes, and tough choices about love. New book out, I'm just fixing the chapters that suck. NOT your typical OC story.
1. Stay awake

Issa's POV

"Sorry," I mutter as I run into a person. They don't answer. "Sorry," I say again after stepping on a different person's foot.

"Yeah, you'd better be!" he responds. As he walks away, he guffaws with his friends, basking in his clever comeback.

Please note my sarcasm.

I smooth a strand of hair behind my ear and sigh. Boys can be so obnoxious. Anyway, I step back and start off in the direction of my last hour class: US History.

Aaaand as I do that, I run into yet another person.

"Sorry," I say for, like, the millionth time that day. Thank goodness it's almost over. I've had a really long day already, what with my other classes. English I, Algebra I, Family Studies (affectionally dubbed "Facs", pronounced like "Facts"), Drama, lunch, Physical Education (or as I like to call it, torture), and then Physical Science. PE always wipes me out, and, as you might be able to tell, I hate it. Wouldn't miss it if I wasn't enrolled in it. Anyway, that's my schedule and reason I would like this day to be over with already.

"S'okay," he responds, hurrying off. I recognize the blond mop of hair to be Josh Davies, a person I've never really paid much attention to, other than noting the fact that he looks almost exactly what I think England from Hetalia should look like.

...Yes, that's the only reason I've noticed him. Don't look at me like that.

I guess you can say the past year or so of my life has been pretty pathetic; everyone who I thought was my friend really turned out not to be, and all that. I try to be lighthearted wbout it; if people don't want to be my friends, they know me as that one girl who occasionally says something funny.

A good sense of humor is maybe the only thing about me that stands out; I'm not particularly pretty, and I'm skinny to the point of being downright scrawny. My hair is a dull shade somewhere between dark blonde and light brunette, shoulder-length and of medium thickness. I dress like all my clothes are hand-me-downs I haven't quite grown into, but that's just the way I like it; oversized clothes are like wearing hugs. I suppose, however. this just makes me seem odder than I really am.

My imagination is pretty wild. Most of the time, I pretend I'm Canada. I know, it's really silly, but there you go. I kinda look like him, and I act more like him than America. I once cut my hair to make my Canada cosplay a little more realistic. It's the same shade as Canada's, so I didn't need a wig, and I even got a necklace with a maple leaf pendant, which I am wearing at the moment. I often look for physical features on other people that make them look like Hetalia characters. Like, how that sophomore has Hungary's hair color...how that junior has America's eye color...how that senior has France-ish hair...And how Josh has England's eyebrows, hair color and style, and eyes.

Today...my imagination seems to be running wilder than ever, though. I think I see people who look like the Axis. The one who looks like Germany is talking to the German teacher. In German, I guess. I only know a couple random phrases and words in German. I'm better at Japanese. Still not fluent, but I bet I could make my way around in a Japanese-speaking enviornment.

The Germany suddenly looks at me. I duck my head, caught in the act of staring, and I start off. "Oi, matte," he says, touching my shoulder. (Hey, wait.)

I stop and turn around, smoothing a strand of hair behind my ear and shifting my backpack. "Hai?" (Yes?)

"Chotto matte, kudasai," he mumbles distractedly, lookng around in a black messenger bag. (Wait a minute, please.)

"Wakatta," I answer, standing still. (Okay.) He glances over at me and nods approvingly.

"Excuse me, but do you know these men?" the German teacher asks me.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

"Then, would you please go to class? They came in here without stopping for a pass at the office, and the rules are that they need one, you know?"

I nod. "Should I go get the office, or...?"

"No, it's fine; just go to class, please."

I nod again and start going down the hall, but, again, the Germany stops me, putting a hand on my shoulder. The German teacher starts talking to him. The blond only waves him off and stares at me. The Japan is also staring at me, but the Italy doesn't seem to care. He's still flirting with girls as they pass. The flow of students is waning. "Chikoku desu," I tell him,suddenly nervous and uncomfortable with his contact. (I'm late.) Again, the German teacher starts trying to intervene. I find it hard to keep eye contact with the stranger; he keeps trying to look me in the eyes, though, so I stare in his eyes as long as I can stand. The Germany hardly acknowledges him, keeping one hand pressed on my shoulder.

I have to break eye contact again, embarrassed. I can't stop thinking about the flaws I have, like the zit on my cheek, my hair sticking up, the way it always does when I put my hair in a ponytail, so I let my bangs fall over my right eye. I look down. Suddenly, the man grabs my chin and lifts it up, making me look at him. The gesture wasn't all that gentle, and my anxiety increases a little. I begin to be grateful that we're in a populated area; they won't be able to do anything illegal with all these witnesses.

I don't know why I just thought they were planning something illegal. I shouldn't judge people based on first impressions. It's just, they all have these black messenger bags. I know there's a manilla file or two in the Germany's, because it's unzipped and he's the closest. He also has ropes or something. And then there's something else. I can't exactly put my finger on it...

With a small, stifled gasp, I realize what it is. I push the man's hand away from my face and look at the German teacher, addressing him. "H—he's got a gun," I stutter.

There are still a few students loitering in the halls before class, and all of them that surprisingly heard my whimper gasp—or scream, in one girl's case—and draw back. The ones that didn't wrinkle their noses, like, What's with the crazy freshmen today?

The German teacher finally physically intervenes, taking the Germany's arm by his elbow and pulling him off me. To me, he says, "Go." Then to the others, "Someone call the cops."

Though he didn't understand, the Germany fiercely shoves the teacher away with so much force that he hurtles through the air, landing on a different teacher's closed door. It breaks open. The kids both in the room and in the halls scream, and chaos erupts as people start scrambling everywhere to get away. I clap a hand over my mouth and quickly stumble back. My backpack hits the wall, and I let it fall to the ground. Before I can go much farther than that, the Japan has a knife out, pressed at my neck.

I stop moving. I think I stop breathing. Flashes of self-defense moves roll around in my head, like, punching him in the nose, bend his fingers the wrong way, kick his knee, kick him where it hurts. But he's holding a knife at my neck, so I stand still, pressed up against the wall. Exasperated, the Germany takes out the gun, a nine millimeter pistol, and he fires a few warning shots into the ceiling. It's a good thing we're already on the top floor. The students that haven't made their escape shriek and fall to the ground, hands over their heads to show they're not going to try anything either.

I hear police sirens.

It got really quiet. The only sound's the soft tapping of the Germany's shoes against the tiled floor and the faint wail of the cops. I watch from my position pinned against the wall as he looks over the faces of the students trapped here: maybe twenty or so from all four grades. A lot of the girls cover their heads with their hands and hunch together, whimpering in fear. I see a boy put a comforting hand on his girlfriend's back, though he looks ready to pee himself. Of the hostages is Josh Davies, kneeling besides a friend, staring up in horror at the Axis dopplegangers.

"Kiritsu," the Germany grunts at him. (Stand)

"I— I don't—" he stutters, shaking his head a little. He looks desperately at me. "Do you know what he said?"

I nod as well as I can with the Japan's knife at my throat. "H—he said to stand," I translate.

Josh shakily nods, muttering a "Thanks" at me. The Germany stares at him for a few minutes, deciding something. Then he turns to the Japan and nods.

Slowly, as if not to frighten me more, the Japan gesture with his hand to walk. I side-step away a few yards. Suddenly, the teacher in the room with the broken door jumps out at the Germany with a loud yell, swinging a baseball bat agressively at him. Faster than I can blink, the Germany grabs the bat with one hand, splintering the wood, and he shoves the teacher away. He also flies down, but he gets up quickly, teeth bared in a snarl, weilding the now-pointy bat.

The man grabs the collar of Josh's shirt and wraps his arm around his neck, holding the gun to his temple. I hear his cry of protest and fear, his hands grabbing at the larger man's forearm, maybe as a precaution to spare himself from being choked. Without changing his facial expression, the teacher drops the bat and lets it roll away, and he takes a few steps to show he's not going to try anything for the sake of Josh's and my safety.

Slowly, carefully, the blond man starts pulling him back. Josh doesn't protest, although I do hear his almost inaudible whimper. The Asian man doesn't make me start walking until the other two are closer. I suppose it would be funny if it wasn't life-or-death; the height difference between me and the man is so great that I think he's on his toes to keep the knife level with my jugular.

The intercom goes off, saying that we are in lockdown, and this is not a drill, I repeat, not a drill, and for teachers to keep all students in their class rooms and for everybody to stay calm. It seems to me the secretary is trying to keep herself calm. I hadn't noticed how loud the sirens have gotten, but once the intercom stops, I can tell now they're right outside. As we pass a window, I see them, covering every possible exit.

In the back of my mind, this relieves me slightly. They have nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Unless they can teleport, they're stuck here. The Germany must understand this as well, because he mutters one of the few German words I know.

The Germany lowers the gun and his arm and starts pulling Josh faster, making him come by grabbing the hood of my sweatshirt. The Japan puts his knife back in its little sheath at his waist and puts an almost comforting hand on my lower back. I flinch when he does, because I wasn't expecting it, and my mind is racing, trying to think of a plan.

I make a decision. "I'm going to run," I warn Josh in a whisper I'm not even sure he hears. "Follow my lead."

Muscles tense, ready to spring, I'm watching them for their weak spot, or a moment when their attention is gone, when Josh suddenly grabs my elbow. "Don't," he tells me, voice shaking. "We're in lockdown; all of the doors are locked."

"Then we wear them out and hide," I resolve. He's about to interrupt, but I cut him off. "We can do it. You're on the football team, right? I'm the first to finish my laps in gym every day. We can do this. Just wait for my signal." He doesn't look convinced. I'm not quite convinced, myself, but it's better than immediately surrendering.

Then it hits me: their weak spot is the Italian man. I almost laugh out loud, because this is too like Hetalia. I figure it out after watching the man in question trip over his untied shoelaces, and then the blond makes us stop. I wasn't quick enough to run when the attention was on him, but I have another way.

We reach the staircase. We're on the flight between the second and first floor when I gather all my courage. Taking a deep, calming breath, I whirl around and shove the red-headed man down the flight of stairs to the first floor. Then, I grab Josh's sleeve, yell, "Up!" as a general sign that he should follow me up the stairs, and start sprinting like I've never sprinted in my life. Almost immediately, there's a roar of indignance from the blond mixing in with the wailing of the Italian and the soft gasp of surprise from the Asian.

We tear out of the staircase on the third floor, the floor we started on. We're being pursued only by the blond man, which doesn't really ease my mind. I mean, I'm scared because he's muscular and fast. But he's like a rhinoceros, in a way; seething mad, sprinting full-speed, and ginormous; it means, through being smaller and more agile, we can change direction faster. I make sure we use that to our advantage.

I'm thinking aloud now, unable to keep the thoughts in my head. "He's on the third floor, which means Jackie Chan's going to be monitoring either the first or second floor, the staircase in particular. Dopey's gonna be with him. So if we shake off Papa Bear, we can take the elevator down to the first floor, and make it to the police!" I wasn't sure what to call them, so I just made stuff up; I think Josh gets it, though. I'm surprised he understood me through my desperate gasps for breath.

However, that plan's all a matter of getting away from the blond man, and it seems like I've run us straight into a dead end. "No...!" I choke out, hitting the wall with my palm in frustration. Then I whirl around just in time to see the man launch himself at us.

He positions himself so that his hands are pinning my shoulders against the wall. He shouts at me in German, and I stare with horror into his face. I realize I'm still holding Josh's sleeve, and I make my fingers unclench from the ball of fabric. With the man's attention on me, Josh can escape. I give his arm a subtle push in the unblocked direction of the main hallway without taking my eyes off the threat. He doesn't move. "Go," I breathe, pushing him with my fingers. "For goodness' sake, Josh, run!"

But saying his name caught the attention of the man, and he wraps an arm around my waist, and then around his, and he lifts the both of us ungracefully under his arms, breaking into a jog. I squirm for a few minutes, then stop and just try not to get whiplash. "I'm sorry," I whimper at Josh. "That was all my fault."

"S'okay," he responds, looking me in the eyes to let me know he really doesn't blame me. I nod, and then experiment a few different ways of struggling, including going limp—he's strong enough to carry my dead weight—stretching to drag my feet along the floor—he just lifts me higher—and trying to flip forward out of his grasp, which, frankly, is a stupid idea in itself. Even if it worked, I would only succeed in hitting my head against the floor, and he could just pick me up again, easy as that. I would have injured myself for a distraction that takes five seconds to correct.

We reach the Japan and the Italy, and they are in the staircase between the first and second floor as I predicted. The Germany lets us stand, but he keeps his hands clamped on the napes of our necks, like we're nothing but misbehaving puppies. I continue to thrash against his hand as he says something beyond my skill range to the Japan; the Italy is pouting at me, like he's more disappointed in me than angry or afraid of me. I find this weird, because there's a certain line you cross after pushing someone down a flight of stairs. But anyway, the others' biggest problem at the moment seems to be me.

The blond lets go of Josh, but keeps his hold on me. I'm confused and nearing my limit when I start crying when he reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a roll of silver duct tape. A forewarning of, he's going to restrain me with that, crosses my mind when he shoves me face-first against the wall and starts doing just that. I let out a strangled yelp of protest and struggle against his powerful hands, but to no avail. He forces my arms behind my back and loops the duct tape around my wrists four or five times before breaking off the strand, and then breaking off another piece to clap over my mouth. He then turns me forcefully back around so I have to look at him, and he orders me in a low growl either to behave myself, of something else about manners. Either way, I get the message that I should be a good little hostage and try not to get myself killed.

Josh hardly puts up a fight at all when the blond decides to tie him up for good measure. I cna only imagine what's going through his head— why won't he fight?! He's being kidnapped, and there's no weapon being used against him—at the moment, anyway. I suppose he's just terrified. I am, too; beyond terrified. I'm so afraid that I'd rather risk getting hurt more severely than intended later while causing a distraction that could save my life than give them extra time to make their getaway with me in tow. Not everyone thinks that way, I guess.

After sticking a long strand of tape over Josh's mouth, they start marching us down the hall again. The corridors that I've gotten so used to look now like an abandoned passage from some sort of twisted horror movie. Who are these men, and what do they want with us?! What are they going to do?! Well, first, they have to corral us out of the building and into their escape vehicle. Then they have to escape the angry swarm of police, maybe by switching cars, getting onto a plane or two, or looping around the city in a nonsense pattern until they confuse the drivers of the cop cars. They'll take us to some sort of safe place. Safe for them, anyway. It could potentially be the most dangerous place I'll ever go. But how long it would take is beyond me; could be a place somewhere in D.C.. Could be a little cabin in the Swiss Alps. And then what sort of horror would occur...?

We've reached the door to the parking lot. After peeking out, the Asian man confirms that we're surrounded. The German man mutters something I don't understand, sighs, wraps his arm around my neck, holds the pistol to my head, and kicks open the door.

A blast of the cold, January air hits me square in the face, and the sun reflecting off the snow outside nearly blinds me. Seeming to have no effect on my captor, he keeps pushing me farther outside. I'm painfully aware of the fact that I'm hyperventilating through my nose, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. When I can see again, I look around. There are three police cars. Six officers. All of them are armed, guns pointed straight on me. There's a news crew in the background, filming this.

"Nice and easy," calls one policeman, the one who looks the oldest, "put your weapons down. You're making a mistake, sons." A glance upward proves that the man holding me knows what was said, but the same cannot be said for the officers.

Without lowering his pistol, the man rips the tape off my mouth. I let out a small whimper as a few layers of skin off my lips are ripped off. "Hon'yaku suru," he orders me. Translate. He wants me to translate.

I take a few seconds to try to control my voice before calling out, "Th—they don't speak English." My voice still shakes liberally, but I think I got enough volume for it to carry across the distance. I wasn't sure for a second if I was supposed to translate that they don't speak English, or what the officer said. But after my rendition leaves my mouth, I think there's enough of a gap in the language barrier for the blond to assume what I said, and it was the right thing. I know I said the right thing because if I screwed up, he would've done something like tighten his grip around my throat, or put the gun closer to my head or something.

"What language, then?" asks the old officer. I answer, and he sticks his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thinking. If they spoke Spanish, the officers might've had someone there translate. But no. Japanese. Or German. Possibly Italian. "Can you ask them their demands?"

I nod as much as I can. "Na— nani wo hoshidesu ka?" (what do you want?)

The man isn't paying attention to me. He's looking around in his messenger bag with the hand that was around my neck. I consider running while his guard is down, but the muzzle of the gun is resting against my temple; I'd be an easy target. So I stay put, watching silently as he rummages around. He looks up again, not at me, but at the line of bodies and cars blocking his way. I notice his hand is still in his bag.

With quick reflexes, he puts something to his mouth and then throws the object. I realize what it is when he's in mid-swing, and, without thinking, I warn, "Grenade!"

There's an explosion behind the line of cars. Fire erupts. People scream and stop, drop, and roll for their lives. I'm frozen in place, staring horrified at the chaos as flecks of ash and little bits of metal land on my face. I'm only able to exhale the gasp I had been holding when the man spits out the grenade's pin, puts his gun in his holster, and throws me over his shoulder.

The Germany drops me in a snowbank, digging in his bag. He pulls out a set of car keys. While he does that, I struggle my way to my feet, and I blindly run, towards the roaring fire and the agonized screaming. I feel like a rabbit, darting away from the the threats as fast as my bunny feet will take me.

But it's not fast enough. The Japan grabs my hood, dragging me back. I may not be strong, but I can make a diversion long enough for an officer to help us. It would be a lot easier if my darn hands weren't tied, though!

So, I thrash around wildly, kicking at every inch of the Japan I can reach. I like to think it's all he can do to hold on the the fistful of my hood, but let's be honest, I'm a weakling. I don't know what I was thinking. The Germany pushes Josh in a black van with tinted windows, and then he comes back to help the Japan. He grabs me around my waist and lifts me up. I squirm away from him, making a fool of myself by imitating limp spaghetti and trying to flip forward to get out of his grasp. "Let me go!" I scream, kicking madly.

The man flips me upright and throws me in the back of the van. And I mean, he literally throws me. I am hurled straight into Josh, which hurts. While we scramble away from each other and assess the damage done, they slam the door and lock it. I crawl over to the door without the use of my hands and throw my shoulder against the glass several times. It also takes me a few minutes to come to the realize that I am not actually screaming like I am trying to do.

The van starts and flies out of the parking lot pursued by several police cars from the side of the school that didn't get blown up. I keep trying to force the door to open, but I'm not strong enough, and he makes several sharp turns so I fall over a lot and hit my head a couple times. I hear Josh yelling something I can't understand through his gag. He's splay-legged on the ground, trying desperately to remain upright.

Somehow I end up heatbutting him again. We both yelp in pain and jerk away. My back hits the seats. I don't even have enough time to turn around before the Japan slaps his hand over my mouth and nose, his other one grasping my forehead for stability. I give muffled scream and struggle, but he's too strong.

My head clouds over. Chloroform, I note. Or something like that; I'm not very knowledged in the drugs area. Several random thoughts cross my mind, like, will I get hungover from this, I don't want to get hunover from this, before he put the strongly-scented rag over my mouth, I noticed he smells like tea, and et cetera. I realize I'm staring at Josh. He looks scared and defenseless. He's kinda cute.

The Japan lets go of me, and I fall sideways, breathing in the clean air. I close my eyes, which was initally supposed to be a blink, but I don't have the energy to open them again. I don't even care about anything right now; I just want to sleep.

Josh is screaming now. It's not very loud, and he stops fairly quickly. The Japan leaves him alone because he's calmer than I am. Calmer than I was. I'm pretty calm right now. I shouldn't be, though. Why am I so calm? What's wrong with me? I should be fighting... I need to go home...I weakly move my wrists back and forth in a small attempt to break the tape. But with a long exhale through my nose, I go limp.


	2. Anger and Fear

**Chapter two, guys!**

**i dont own hetalia and i will not be profiting from this story thank you very much**

Issa's POV

Vanilla. It smells like vanilla. The ground is soft and sweetly-scented and comfortable. It's also vibrating. Huh. Weird. My bed isn't supposed to be vibrating.

I open my eyes. I'm not in my bed. I'm not in my room. I'm not even in my house. I'm in the seatless back of an unfamiliar van. I realize I'm still wearing my glasses, which explains the sharp feeling of pain on my nose, and why everything is in focus. My hands are tied behind my back with something sticky. Duct tape.

I'm facing the back door, which is good because the three men can't see my expression morph from peacefulness to absolute panic. Josh Davies can. He's huddled against the wall, duct tape keeping his mouth shut and his arms behind his back. He's watching me with a sad sort of sympathetic look in his eyes.

I think the Japan noticed that I stopped breathing, even though I haven't moved from my awkward position splayed across the floor or, as far as I know, made any sound at all. He cups my shoulder with his hand and shifts me so I'm on my back, and he can see that I'm awake and frozen with horror. He seems uncomfortable; after checking that I'm alive, he nods to himself and turns back around in his seat.

I move my head to face away from him, now breathing too quickly. I can't think; whatever was on the rag makes my head hurt. I look up, out the window. All I can see is the tips of snow-capped trees and a dark gray sky. It also looks like it's nighttime, when I was put down sometime around three in the afternoon... How long was I out?

The Japan turns around to look at me again. I flinch and keep my face tilted away. He grabs my shoulder again and lifts me to a sitting position. I let my bangs provide a curtain of privacy, clenching my eyes shut. After pulling me a bit closer to the seats, he reaches around my head and gently tugs my ponytail holder out of my hair. It spills around my shoulders and face, thickening the boundary between me and him. But he puts his hand under my chin and lifts it up. "Me wo akirameta," I hear him say, his voice gentle and persuasive. Part of me wants to like him. I don't, though. I won't let myself like him. (Open your eyes.)

I shake my head no for stubbornness's sake, jerk my head out of his grasp, and place it so my chin is practically touching my right shoulder. He uses his masked strength to make me face him again, but when he talks again, his voice is as calming as ever. "Kowai naide." (Don't be scared.)

That order ticks me off. I mean, he just freaking kidnapped me. I'm in a car full of strangers who have already threatened my life, who-knows-how far away from everything I know and love. And he expects me to just drop all my fears, all my paranoia, and trust him, just because he said so. So, now filled with unexplainable rage, I glare at him.

I guess he wasn't expecting me to be so angry. But either way, he keeps his composure and examines my eyes. Then, he feels my hair. Fixes it so it doesn't look like I just woke up. Strokes it out of my face. Without thinking, when his hand is close enough to my ungagged mouth, I lash out and bite him. I don't know why. Like I said, my head hurts too much to form smart thoughts, and he was violating my personal space, and my mouth is the only weapon I have, considering my arms are stuck behind my back and I'm not flexible enough to even attempt to kick him from where I sit.

He jerks back with a surprised yelp. The German man, who is driving, looks at me through the rear-view mirror and yells at me. I lower my head and glare at him too, lip curling in a snarl. But I don't resist or try to bite again when the Asian man reunites my lips with a long strip of duct tape. I shift over to sit next to Josh.

He looks at me and furrows his eyebrows. His expression asks me why the heck I just did that. I raise my eyebrows and shrug, like, "What else could I have done?!" He lowers his shoulders, tilting his head to the side, and he looks at me like, "You're going to get the both of us in trouble." I just flare my nostrils and glance back at the backs of their heads.

The van rolls to a stop. Josh and I stiffen simultaneously. I twist around to look out the window. We're at a large building at the top of a mountain. It's definitely nighttime, but I don't think it should be. There are several streetlight-like lights stationed around the driveway, letting off an obnoxiously bright white light as opposed to the orange ones you normally see when walking down a street.

My anger completely falls away as the German man walks around and opens the back doors. I stay still at first, as does Josh. Then, he motions impatiently for us to get out. Josh is the first to move, and I follow him.

It's really cold out here. I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Josh, glad for his comfort and heat. Normal social boundaries don't really apply here; I wouldn't be standing so close to him back home because I don't really know him. I mean, my mom and his mom are friends, so I see him often, but we only really exchange an occasional "Hi," as we pass.

The men march us in the building. Once my glasses de-fog, I look around. We're in a big hall that splits off to the right and left. There's a door directly in front of us. Tables and a couple chairs decorate the walls. There are a few mirrors on the walls, too. The ceiling is painted to resemble the Sistine chapel's.

Without warning, the German man grabs my elbow and starts pulling me to the right. The Asian man takes a handful of the back of Josh's sweatshirt and pulls him towards the left corridor. I yelp and backtrack as far as I can, trying to get back to the only familiar face here. Josh seems to have the same idea, but he's not as determined as I am.

They're out of sight now, but I still struggle. I can't stay with him. I need to go home. I need my family. I can't do this. I can't do this.

The man takes a fistful of my hair and pulls up so hard I'm forced on my toes. I wince and stop thrashing. He just stands there for a second, talking to me sternly. He seems almost pleased to have me at his mercy. Under his thumb. Completely defenseless.

There's a sudden whine of indignation, and the red-haired man rushes up and pulls the German's arm down, and he pries his fingers off my hair. I watch incredelously as he scolds him. Defending me. He then whirls around and hugs me, his arms protecting my head, and his combined smell of garlic and cappuccino. He's about the same height as I am, so it's not awkward in the sense that one of us has to bend down. I hear his chirpy and overenthusiastic voice tell me in Japanese not to worry because he really is an amazing man, and then as he pets the strand of hair that was pulled, he tells me that everything is okay.

I'm too confused to be angry or scared. I mean, I'm both, but bafflement is my first reaction. I pushed this guy down a flight of stairs, and he seems to genuinely like me. I don't understand...

The blond interrupts and makes me walk again. The Italian walks on my other side, arm looped in mine, practically skipping down the hall. I can't do anything about him, though. Anyway, the man keeps trying to take the tape off my mouth so I can talk, but the German keeps putting it back on before I can say anything. They get in a little pouty arguement that the blond wins.

Finally, we stop at a heavy-looking door. The German unlocks it with a brass key and pushes me in. Behind the door is a very empty-looking room. It's not very big. It kind of reminds me of a ballet studio, in the sense that a mirror covers a full wall. There's a spinny chair in front of the mirror, and behind that is a metal tray on a rolling table covered in things I can't see.

The blond drags me over to the spinny chair and makes me sit on it. He lifts my arms up and slips them over the back of the chair so it'll be harder to get up, and he then secures me with a long, thick rope. I sit up straight and look down at my knees. They're shaking. Before walking away, he makes me look at him, and he tells me firmly to behave myself.

I close my eyes and start working on my breathing. In, one two three... Out, one two three... I start pretending I'm not here. That's right, I'm at school. I'm scared because I'm having a panic attack. It's all in my head. No one's going to hurt me. I'm okay. I'm okay.

The door creaks open. I flinch and look over there. It's the Japanese man, and he's alone. I point my head back towards my lap and close my eyes again. No one's going to hurt me. I'm okay. No one's going to hurt me. I'm okay.

The three men talk quietly behind me for a few minutes. I watch them in the mirror through the veil of hair covering my right eye. Slowly but surely, they start gravitating towards me.

I listen with increasing panic to the Asian man's footsteps coming closer, clicking menacingly on the concrete floor. He carefully pulls my glasses off my face, sending everything spiraling into a blur. Staring now at my lap, I hear the soft noise of something being rubbed on metal: he picked something off the tray. I behave myself as he gently runs a hairbrush through my hair. I'm thinking fast. Why are they so interested in my hair?! Why are they so interested in me?! I'm okay. No one's going to hurt me. I'm okay.

The man picks something else off the tray after setting down the brush. There's a second where nothing happens, and then...snip. A strand of my hair spirals down to the ground.

I snap my head up, staring at him through the mirror. No, I want to scream. I can't scream. I can't even politely ask him not to. I just let my eyes do the talking.

The man doens't care. He takes another strand, lines it up with the first cut, and snip, there goes another piece.

I shake my head, still looking pleadingly at him through the mirror. Please stop. Please. I need to go home. I need my family. Please, let me go. Take me home. I need to go home. Please.

He makes stop moving, and he positions the scissors to cut another strand, and I start really squirming. I shake my head, and I kick at nothing, and I twist my wrists around, trying to break the duct tape around my wrists. I hear the Japanese man call for the German's help. He's there suddenly, meaty hands clamped on either side of my face. His thumbs are positioned on either cheekbone, fingers digging forcefully under my jaw. The more I thrash, the harder he squeezes me. I stop because it hurts.

The most I can make myself do is remove all the expression from my face. I feel silly, sitting here expressionless, tape covering my mouth, someone holding my face still. Silly, and also terrified to death. I can't make myself pretend I'm just having a panic attack at school. This is too real. Call me stupid, but there are a couple crime-fighting TV shows that start off with something like this. Although, most of the time, they start off with a dead body. For all I know, tomorrow morning, someone could be fishing my corpse out of the ocean.

Finally, he's done cutting my hair. All the hands retreat. They're behind me, musing to themselves. I open my eyes, and I am confused.

I see the men in the mirror. But where am I? There's someone tied to a spinny chair, but he does not look like me. He looks like a man. But that is me. My hair is very short now.

I let my eyes fall. Why did they do this? Why is it important that I have this hairstyle? What the heck is their plan with me?!

The Japan steps closer to me and brings out his knife. I flinch. He either doesn't notice, or he doesn't care, and he starts cutting through the rope securing me to the chair. Then, he cuts the duct tape. The man gestures for me to get up. I follow orders, and he hands me back my glasses. I carefully peel the tape off my mouth, and he doesn't protest. He and the other two herd me out of the room.

I want to ask him where we are. Who they are. What they want with me. Why they cut my hair. When I can go home. But I can't. I mean, I can translate a few of those questions into Japanese, but would I be able to understand their answer? Fear also paralyzes my vocal chords, making me unable to speak. So I hug myself and continue following them.

We go to a glass door with blinds on the inside, and the Japan unlocks it, and he stands aside for me to go in. I give him an untrusting look, but I go in.

All of a sudden, a voice cries, "Issa!" and Josh embraces me before I understand what's going on.

"What!?" I yelp, stiffening. "O—oh. H—hi."

"What did they do to your hair?!" he yelps, putting a hand on my head. I just shake him off, still terrified, and I back into a corner.

"I—I'm sorry, it's just—" I shake my head, freaking out.

The Axis lookalikes file into the room, and I shuffle back a few steps, my back hitting the wall. Josh jumps protectively in front of me, but I shake my head and move forward a few steps. "Don't do that," I mumble.

"Do what?" he asks, distractedly; he's glaring down our captors.

"Try to protect me," I respond, still in a hushed tone. "It's really sweet of you and all, but it's kind of embarrassing."

"Oh. Okay." And with an expression that makes me want to apoligize, he moves to stand by my side rather than defending me.

"Doozo," the Japan says politely, pointing to two chairs on one side of a metal table, while they sit in the three chairs on the other side. (Please [in a "go ahead" kind of way])

Josh looks helplessly at me. "They want us to sit," I explain, not moving a muscle.

"Are you going to?"

I shrug. "Probably not."

He sits down anyway, positioning his body sideways on the chair. When they look at me, I quickly mutter, "Kekko desu." (No thanks) The Germany shrugs, like he couldn't care less. Gathering my courage, I ask, "Dare wa anata desu ka?" (Who are you?)

"Watashi no namae wa Honda Kiku desu. Kochira wa Beilschmidt Ludwig desu, to Vargas Feliciano desu," the Japan says smoothly. (My name is Kiku Honda. This is Ludwig Beilschmidt and Feliciano Vargas.)

I exhale sharply and shake my head. "Uso desu." (That's a lie)

"Ludwig" frowns. "Uso janai," he protests. (It's not a lie)

"Are you arguing? Why are you arguing? What's going on?" Josh asks nervously. I stop and sigh, shaking my head. I'm trying not to be short with him for interrupting every few phrases; it's not his fault he doesn't speak a word of Japanese.

"I dunno," I respond, keeping my thoughts to myself. "I'm being stupid. That's Fe—Feliciano, Kiku, and Ludwig," I translate, nodding at each one in turn, pretending like I don't remember their last names. Of course I know their last names; I know they can't be who I think they are, though. This is real life, not one of my stupid daydreams.

Josh hesitates, giving each man a sideways glance, and then he nods at me. "Where are we? C—can you ask that?"

I nod. I notice that the three have been waiting patiently for us to finish. "Koko wa?" I suppose I could've worded that better: I just used the informal version of that phrase for brevity's sake, but that can be taken as disrespectful. (Where is this place?)

I don't think they take it the wrong way, which relieves me. "Berlin desu," Ludwig Beilschmidt answers, eyeing me coldly. "Berlin, Doitsu." (In Berlin. Berlin, Germany.)

"Majide," I spit, controlling my tone, not so much my face. I think I let my expression change from shock, to confusion, to anger, and then back to neutral. I don't know how long I was out, but there is absolutely no way I could've been in that van for the time it takes to get from D.C. to Berlin. And the fact remains that we didn't get on a plane or a boat or anything. It's impossible. "Mu—muri desu." (Seriously. Th—that's impossible.)

Josh turns around to look helplessly at me. "What—...are they saying...?"

I put one hand on my hip and the other on the bridge of my nose and sigh, thinking. "They said we're in Berlin."

"Like—"

"Like the Germany Berlin."

"That's—" He stutters himself out. "How is that possible?"

"It's not. That's my point."

"But here we are!" he exclaims, giving a backwards glance at the men. "It's night when it should only be around three in the afternoon! People speaking—German—o—or Japanese, or whatever!"

"But it's not possible!" I shift my weight from one leg to the other, crossing my arms. "Uso desu," I snap again. This time, I'm not afraid of coming across as rude. (You're lying.)

"Uso janai," Ludwig responds again, calmly. I notice he doesn't deny it's craziness. He's leaning back in his chair, a sign that he doesn't really care. Kiku Honda is sitting upright—attentiveness. And Feliciano Vargas is in his own little world, somewhere over the rainbow. Josh is leaning forward, but he's slouching: wary, but zoning out. (It's not a lie.)

With another small sigh, I ask, "Na—nani wa hoshidesu ka?" (Wh—what do you want?)

The door opens, and there's a man in uniform standing there. He has brown hair slicked back, and I can't see his eyes from here. His stance is just like every person's here: rock solid, professional. A soldier's stance. He nods at the three men respectfully, and he sits down on the end of the table next to Josh. Josh, obviously uncomfortable, scoots his chair away a few feet.

"Hello," he says in English. "I am General Victor Hughes. I'm here to translate for you." His voice is deep and calm and tainted with a slight Japanese accent. Now that he's closer, I see his eyes are brown.

"Are you okay with this?" Josh immediately asks. "We didn't do anything wrong, so why the heck are we here?" He starts to speak in Japanese towards the men, but Josh interrupts. "No, stop translating. I'm asking you."

"I'll have to ask you to not directly address me," he answers.

"Fine. Tell them they've got the wrong people and they're abusing their power." Josh leans back against his chair, angry but wary. I think he actually does it; I hear a few of the words that would be said.

"Wh—what do they want?" I ask, my voice shaking. I feel like I'm yelling, even though I can barely hear myself. In answer, Ludwig reaches into his messenger bag and brings out two manilla files. He puts one in front of Josh, and he gives the other one a toss towards me.

"Doozo," he says, crossing his arms and leaning back to squint at our reactions. Hughes translates for Josh, but I'm not listening. I'm staring at the folder, arms crossed over my stomach. Do I want to read it? (Go ahead.)

I walk forward a few steps and take the folder. Paperclipped to the other side is a few pictures and a couple sheets of paper. A couple I can read, but a couple I can't. One of them is my report card. The pictures are what scare me the worst. They're all of me. Of course, I'm never looking at the camera. There's one of me getting into my mom's car. Walking my dog. Sitting in class. On vacation, sitting on a snowbank throwing snow at my sister. Then my school photo.

"You've been stalking us," I force myself to say.

"Allow me to explain," say Hughes in his monotonous voice, allowing Kiku and Ludwig to alternate speaking before speaking himself. "The, how you put it, 'Stalking,' was to make sure you are who we thought you were."

"Who the heck did you think we were?!" I yell, not sure I'm supposed to be yelling at Hughes or the men. "We're— we're fourteen! What on earth could we have done?!"

"You are here for an expiriment." I take an aggressive half-step forward, about to interrupt, but he holds up his hand for silence. I feel my lip curl, but I back down. "During this time, we will be observing your behaviors, including dealing with stress, grief, and other emotions. Then, we will test physical attributes, such as strength and skill."

"This is ridiculous!" I exclaim. "So who do you think we are, huh?! What's so special about us? Why are we here?! What's special about us?!"

"That is classified information," he translates.

I take a deep breath and sit down at the empty chair, and I steeple my fingers. I know this is a trait that confident people do; I'm trying to be confident. I make myself look Ludwig in the eyes since he seems like the leader. I can't think of anything smart to say, so I just stare at him. He's not afraid of me; what's there of me to be afraid of?

"What then?" Josh asks. "When can we go home?"

Ludwig finally breaks eye contact with me to talk to Hughes. Hughes tells us, "That will be decided later."

"Decided later?!" he exclaims. "We're not lab rats! We have families a—and lives! We haven't done anything worth keeping us here! Who do you think you are?!" He looks at me, a bit uncertain, like he's afraid they're going to get mad at his outburst. I notice he has a habit of playing with his fingers when he's nervous.

When Hughes translates, Ludwig makes a small, "Hm," noise, and he clicks a pen and scribbles down a few notes. It's like he's trying to mock us.

I shake my head, disgusted. I don't have words for this. They've forcibly torn us from our lives, and now he thinks it's funny to ridicule us for being emotional. I remember a phrase I memorized for some strange reason, and I look at the three men in turn. "Anata—...Anatatachi wa nande konna fuu ni shimatta no?" (What—...What made you all change like this?)

Their reactions are different. Feliciano, without changing expressions, cocks his head to the side. Kiku merely frowns in confusion. Ludwig, draws away, and he glares at me, like he is outraged that I would ask such a question. Kiku says something, and Hughes, obviously, translates. "Your question makes it seem like you have known them before this."

"What did you say?" Josh whispers to me.

"Nothing," I murmur back. "Nothing important, anyway." I glance at Hughes, and then at the men. "Forget I said anything. It was stupid."

"If that is all there is to be said, allow us to show you where you will be staying," the soldier announces with Ludwig's words.

"No," I interrupt, "I have something else." Ludwig, who was starting to stand, looks at me with curiousity, and he lowers himself back in his chair. "General Victor Hughes, was it?"

"I have asked you before to not directly address me," he objects. Then he explains his outburst in Japanese.

"I know; just hear me out." I look him in the eyes, even though doing so makes me squirm uncomfortably. "How old are you?"

"How is this relevant?"

"It just is," I bluntly state. "Answer me."

"I am fifty-three years of age," he responds, a bit suspisciously.

"Okay, cool. Now, how old are they? Or, how old do you think they are?" I nod at the three men.

"You're stalling," he points out. I let my shoulders go limp, and I give him a deadpan expression, and he gives in. "I don't know."

"They look like they're in their twenties, to me," I tell him. "You're at the highest rank, aren't you, General? I'm sure it took you a long time to get this position. And yet, you seem almost afraid of a couple of college students. Why is that, General Hughes?"

He, now really suspicious of me, starts talking to the men. Josh elbows me. "You're going to get in trouble," he warns.

"But isn't it fishy to you?!" I exclaim in a loud whisper. "Why do they have so much power at such a young age? It doesn't make any sense...!"

The men look slightly panicked as Hughes translates. Ludwig gets to his feet, and Josh and I rise simultaneously. I back away as it's clear he's going for me. "You're hiding something," I point out, my voice now trembling as I am suddenly cornered in the small room. "You're getting angry for no reason; that means I've hit on something important to you." My back hits the wall, and I let out a little gasp. I hold up my hand towards the angry blond, palm forward. "Nai de." (Don't.)

"Urusai!" I flinch as he shouts and withdraw my hand, looking down. He grabs my mouth and makes me look at him, and I gasp again, but don't try to free myself. He starts talking quickly and angrily about being quiet. I can't make myself look angry at him; the most I can make myself do is wipe the expression from my face. (Shut up!)

I'm dangerously close to bursting into tears. As a last resort to that, I start struggling, hitting at the inside of his elbow with the palm of my hand, kicking at his knees, violently twisting myself out of his grasp. He, of course, dosn't appreciate this. All of a sudden, I feel his gloved hand on my throat, and the back of my head makes contact with the wall again so hard I momentarily forget why I was fighting. Then I feel myself being lifted off the ground by my neck.

I can't breathe. Brain overloaded with panic, I can't make myself scream. I won't stop thrashing, though. My fingers pry at his hand. My feet kick at his torso. I hear panicked voices. I can't tell whose voice is whose, though; I can barely hear anything over the pounding of blood in my ears. I stop kicking. I make several choking noises, still fighting for control of my neck. I can't breathe. Josh comes and grabs Ludwig's arm, trying to pull me down, and Ludwig shoves him away. I see him fall over in my peripheral vision.

The man suddenly drops me. I land hard on the floor, and I cough violently, protecting my throat from further attacks. I crawl away a few feet and shift so my legs are under me, still trying to regulate my breathing, one hand on my neck, the other on the ground, keeping myself upright. I'm not sure what I'm thinking; my mind is blank with shock and terror.

Someone else puts his hand on my shoulder. I yelp and flinch away, but it's Josh. He's kneeling next to me. "Are you okay?" he asks me, his voice shaking. His hand is shaking, too. I'm not sure if I am or not, but I nod anyway so he won't get himself into trouble. He hugs me, and I freeze, and then bury my face in his shoulder, trembling and trying not to cry. My glasses dig into the bridge of my nose.

Josh suddenly stiffens. "Come on," he whispers gently. "Get up." I allow him to help me stand. After taking a moment to control my expression, I look up at my captors.

Kiku takes a small step forward to call attention to himself, and he sinks into a bow. "Sumimasen deshita," he apologizes quickly. (I'm so sorry for that.)

Hughes starts to translate, but I cut him off with a strangled, "I know what he said." Then, taking another moment to try to control my voice, I answer him, "Da—daijoubu desu." (I—it's okay.) He seems surprised that I forgave his companion so easily after that attempted strangulation.

"Kochi," he says simply after that, leading the way. I realize I'm still clutching at Josh's sleeve when he starts to follow him when Hughes translates. (This way.)

I'm aware of Ludwig and Feliciano bringing up the rear as Hughes and Kiku take the front. I watch my feet, fingers twitching on the handful of Josh's sweatshirt. "Are you really okay?" he whispers.

"Yeah," I breathe back, glancing up as our party takes a turn down the corridor on the left.

"What did you say to make him so angry?" As I glance up to look at him, I realize he's looking intently at me with big green eyes that seem thoroughly concerned for my safety. I look back down quickly.

"H—he's hiding something. They all are. That's why Hughes is afraid of them. That's why they have so much power for looking so young. I—if I just knew what it is, I could—"

Josh interrupts me. "He almost killed you because you had an idea. Just don't. D—don't give him a reason to actually do it." He puts his shaking hand over my shaking hand comfortingly.

I make myself nod. I'm still going to try to find out. I just probably won't wave it over their head. Maybe. If it's a big enough secret to buy our way outta here, I'll do it.

For a while, we walk in silence. The floor is hardwood, cleaned so thoroughly I can see my reflection. I realize how close I am to Josh, but I can't make myself pull away. I'm still in shock of what happened. Ludwig and Kiku are talking to each other, musing about something. Hughes has gone his seperate way.

They stop at a blue door and a red one. Ludwig walks past us to unlock the plain red door with a normal-looking key. Then, in a few long strides, he's over to where Josh and I stand clutching at each other. He pries Josh's hand off mine, and then my hand off his arm. I gasp and reach for him again, but Ludwig grasps me with one arm around my waist, and my feet once again leave the ground. "Yamere!" I screech, struggling with newfound terror. Out of the corner of my eye, Josh jumps forward to grab for my hand again, but Ludwig puts his free hand on his chest and pushes him back. (Stop it!)

Ludwig hands me to Kiku, who puts me back on the ground and gently but firmly herds me into the room behind the red door. I'm beside myself, trying to reach the one piece of home I have left. I don't care that he's never talked to me before. Right now, he's my only friend, and I'm not letting us get seperated. Josh seems just as bent as returning to me as I am getting to him.

Kiku was holding back his strength. But after I struggle for too long, he gives me a hard push, and I lose my balence and fall backward into the room. I hear him tell me, "Sumimasen deshita," again as he closes the door. I let out a strangled protest in broken Japanese and fling myself at the door right as a soft click resonates around. (I'm so sorry for that.)

"Let me out!" I scream, pounding my hands against the door. "Let me out! Josh!" I hear him give a panicked shout of my name, and there's another slamming sound. I think they're gone, but I'm still going berserk, trying to get out of the room.

Once I realize I'm hyperventilating, I stop fighting the door and whirl around. The room's empty, which I guess I'm glad about. My knees buckle, and I'm sitting on the ground in front of the door.I raise a trembling hand to my mouth, just barely able to stifle the first gasping sob that I emit without warning. My vision blurs as the back of my glasses are soaked with tears.

I stop breathing, suddenly wanting a grip on my emotions. My hand curls into a fist, fingernails digging uncomfortably into my palm. But trying to stop crying is useless at this point.

For a while, I just sit there with my head bowed, tear drops falling on my hands. I won't let myself be loud with it, but I can't help hiccupping every now and then. I feel pathetic, wallowing in self-pity instead of doing something.

What can I do? There's nothing I can do. It's hopeless, futile, pointless. Why should I even bother thinking about escape?

Frustration builds up, bringing me to my breaking point. I try to contain it by biting the soft, pale skin on the inside of my wrist. Immediately, pain comes. I'm not sure if I want to let go or bite harder, and the thought scares me. After I unclamp my teeth from my arm, I curl into a little ball, putting my hands over my head and pulling it closer to my knees.

Finally, I make myself stop. In, one two three…. Out, one two three…. I wipe my sleeves under my eyes, ridding them of the tears. I have to clean my glasses, too; the salty liquid stained the back of them, distorting everything I try to look at.

I look up after the lenses are clear. The first thing about this room that I note is the colors. I don't usually care about how a room is decorated, but this is just garish. It's neon yellow and vibrant green, with little touches of tan for decoration. I feel like I'm trapped in a bottle of Sprite.

Anyway, this is very similar to a hotel room, minus the secutiry cameras in each corner of the room. Two queen-sized beds, two dressers, a table with a couple chairs tucked under it. I have to stop and wonder why everything is in pairs. There's a door off to the right, and I stand up to inspect it. It's a bathroom. Fully stocked with toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, the works. This is making me really angry. Why do they care?

I take a few calming breaths and leave before I have a chance to freak out again. The window helps me control myself. It's one of those windows with a super long and wide windowsill, big enough for someone to sit on. Two someone's, actually, if they're both sitting side-by-side. I flop down and stretch my legs across it, staring out the window.

What a great view of the forest. Shame I'll never be able to see it up close and personal.

With a start, I realize it's snowing. I didn't realize this immediately because it's coming down so hard it just looks like a gray cloud. I press my forehead against the window, and the cold seeps in, making my bangs wet. I wonder what they want with me. A ransom seems wrong; my family isn't rich. I don't have any special talents. It just doesn't make sense. They specifically wanted me. Me and Josh, that is.

My mom is friends with his mom, so I know he's not rich, either. I've never really paid attention to him, so I don't know if he has any special talents. He's never made that much of an impression on me, so why did he on them?

Maybe it's something with our moms. Maybe they did something wrong, and we're getting the punishment? I discard that thought: that still doesn't explain why they took us exclusively; they could have just as easily taken Renae, or Josh's older brother whose name I don't remember. And how could they have made them mad if they don't even speak Japanese, or German, or Italian?

Maybe they're spies for the CIA. Maybe, when Mom leaves for "work," she's really going and kicking some dude's butt.

I also discard that thought. Too far-fetched.

Maybe this is some reality-TV show, or something. I mean, there's a camera in each of the corners of this room.

No. Kidnapping is still illegal. There's no way someone would risk jail time just for some stupid show.

I sigh, curling up into a little ball again and watching the snow fall. I wish I could open the window just to catch a few snowflakes.

Suddenly, there's a loud noise from the left side of the room, like someone kicked the wall. Then someone says, "Ow." It's really muffled and quiet, but I can still hear it.

"H—hello?" I ask, standing up and staring at the wall.

"I—Issa?" Josh asks.

I run to the wall. "Yeah!"

"These walls aren't very soundproof," he muses. His voice is still hardly audible. I walk between the two beds, and I sit down in front of the little metal cover on the floor.

"Try talking into the vent," I tell him.

"Uh, okay…? Like this?"

It works: his voice is a lot clearer. "Yeah. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"Nope. Just tossed me in here, same as you. What about you?"

"You saw what happened, and no one's been here since," I inform, brushing hair behind my ear. A thought occurs to me. "Y'know, they can probably hear everything we're saying."

"I don't really care. They can't understand us, anyhow," he says. His voice fills with a sense of urgency. "Issa, who are these people? Why did they take us?"

"I don't know," I manage through numb lips. "I was hoping you knew."

"Well...I guess they kind of made it clear that we're here for some sort of experiment. I'm just glad they specified that they're not actually going to be experimenting on us."

"Yeah. That would be bad..." I let my voice trail off.

"You okay?" he asks. When I confirm that I am, there's a sound like him flopping over. "This is really creepy...but it feels like I've seen them before."

"Well. They've been stalking us. I guess we should've seen them around." I brush my hair out of my face. We should've seen them around. Sensed that something was wrong. Maybe if we did, we wouldn't be here.

"No, not like that...," Josh says, and he kind of mumbles for a minute about how he thinks he's seen them from something else.

"I—I kinda feel that way, too," I admit. I know he's probably going to laugh at my anime theory, but making them fictional helpes me cope, in a way. It means I can imagine them doing all the silly things the Axis does and laugh to myself behind their backs.

"...You watch anime, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Hetalia?"

"Uh-huh," I answer. I'm surprised—Hetalia isn't that big at our school; I thought I was the only one to watch it. I came to that assumption because I've never heard anyone else talk about it, and I've never gotten the guts to go up to anyone and ask. But for this to be coming from the mouth of the JV quarterback—...wow. I never would've guessed that.

"...Heh," he laughs. "This is weird."

"Yeah," I agree. "They're too real. Too like their characters. Nothing about this makes sense."

"Yeah..." Josh trails off. "Have you noticed anything about your room?" he asks, changing the subject abruptly.

"…It's ugly," I say bluntly. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno. Like, nothing's popped out at you?"

"…Not really. Well, I take that back. There's two of everything," I say.

"Three of everything over here," he tells me. "And, well…. Have you looked in the dressers?"

"No…."

"Go look."

I get up and walk towards the first chest of drawers. In it is a bunch of clothes. A few pairs of tan slacks, a couple of dress shirts, things like that. It's more formal clothes, really. They do seem… familiar…. It clicks as soon as I see the jacket, folded up in the bottom drawer. Brown leather, black fluff around the collar, the number fifty emblazoned largely on the back.

I gasp and drop it on the floor.

"You okay? What happened?"

"I—it's just… his jacket…," I stutter. "And, the rest of his clothes…."

"America's, yeah, I guessed. Your new haircut—"

"—looks like his, I noticed." Leaving the jacket on the ground like it might bite me if I try to move it, I move over to the other one, and I find what look like China's clothes, both the red dress-looking thing, and the green military outfit. "China's, too," I say, sitting back down in front of the vent.

"Russia's, England's, and France's in mine," he responds. "I guess I'm supposed to look like England?"

"I dunno, you could be a pretty good France," I mutter. He is the most like England of the three, physically. Like I've said before, I have no idea his personality.

"Am not, he's a perv!" he protests, laughing a bit.

"Not all the time," I say. "He's supposed to be a really great therapist."

"Hnn. I've never got that vibe from him."

"Well, you're not in the fandom, are you?" I say.

"What's the fandom got to do with anything?"

"Everything! We, like, analyze everything about each and every character until we know every single possible thing there is to know about them," I say.

"…Obsession, much?"

I smile. "Yeah. The entire Hetalia fandom is kinda messed up in the brain."

"Including you?"

"Yep," I answer simply. "I just know how to control it."

"So, you know everything about the Axis, right?"

"…Not everything," I respond regretfully. "I thought I did, but they'd never do this."

"Hm…," he muses. "Well, do they have any weaknesses?"

"…Each other. I know that sounds really sappy, but it's true. Germany and Japan are the most powerful. Germany has brute strength, Japan has skill. Italy, well, he's good at waving a white flag around. Germany's just surprised he's so close to the other two. When you think about it, he's been the bad guy for the two world wars, so I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have many friends in that time, so when Japan and Italy came along, ready to be allies, well."

"Man, he's nothing but a big softie!" Josh exclaims.

"Mostly. I wouldn't recommend doing anything to threaten either of them. He'd most likely go angry mother bear on you. You saw how he was when I pushed Japan," I say.

"Yeah, he almost killed you."

"I don't think he would have actually. I mean, then all that stalking would have gone to waste."

"Yeah, that's friggen' creepy!" he exclaims. "When I get back, I'm gonna wear hats and shades twenty-four/seven!" A moment of silence passes. "Well…. If I get back."

"They can't keep us here forever," I say, not believing it.

"Hn…," he mutters. "…What about Japan?"

"Let's see…," I muse. "I bet you could just give him the kicked-puppy look and he'd back off. He and England are friends."

"Aren't he and America friends?"

"Yeah. I could probably pull that off, too. So could the China lookalike. If anything, Japan's the softie. He's happy to have friends, and he's pretty likable, so the other nations warmed up to him first, and he got attached. Maybe the France lookalike, too…."

"Not Russia's, then?"

"…It's questionable. I doubt it; Russia scares the crap outta the other nations. All of them but—"

"—Belarus."

"Yeah."

"So, if these guys are real, does that mean she is too…?"

"I guess so. I only hope I don't meet her." For a while, none of us say anything. So, I change the subject. "How long was I out, back there?"

"In the car ride?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno," he answers. "At least half an hour. They took a picture of you when you were asleep." I start to interject how that's gross and I hate them even more when he clarifies, "N—not anything bad. Just your face. They took one of me, too. I dunno why. I bet both of them are awful."

"Yeah, I bet," I respond, unsure of what else to say. "They've been stalking us. So, maybe they just didn't have any recent pictures, or whatever?... Nah, they were probably watching us yesterday, too. Trying to find a good time to strike."

Josh, for some reason, lets out a breathy chuckle. "Like a scrapbook thing. 'Baby's first kidnapping. Look, there they are all tied up and helpless. How adorable.'"

Despite the satirical truth in that, I laugh along because it really was funny in a dark sort of way. "They're a bunch of sickos."

"Yeah," he agrees. There's another moment of silence. Then, he starts to talk again, just voicing his worries. "This all is just weird, though. It's like— we were only in the car for thirty minutes, maximum. So it should only be about three o' clock. So it shouldn't be dark. But it is. Understand?"

"Yeah," I say, because I do. I mean, I understand his confusion, not how the enviornment became all cattywampous. "Maybe you were drugged and you don't realize it. Maybe we're both still on drugs. Maybe this is all a dream, and we'll wake up somewhere over the rainbow."

"Nah," he responds, and his voice gets a little softer. "The bruises on your neck kinda rule out all that."

I run my hand over my throat in answer, and it still is a little tender. "Guess I was kinda asking for it, huh? Confronting them, and all that..."

"You sure you're okay?" he asks. "'Cause you're not dying on me. Capisce?"

"Yeah, I capisce," I answer. "And I'm fine, really." A thought occurs to me. "Thanks, by the way. For trying to help."

"Huh?" he asks, and then he seems to remember has he tried to make Ludwig let me down as he pinned me to the wall. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, it's whatever. No prob."

It's not whatever. If this was a normal hostage situation, that would very much not be whatever. They could have killed me and still had their hostage. And if Josh acted up while trying to save me, they might've killed him too. Hurt him, at the least. I shudder to think of what they can easily do to us. I mean, Ludwig can pick both of us up like we're nothing. He could break our limbs, one by one. Kill us both in a slow and painful way.

"...So," he interrupts, "...what now?"

"I dunno," I respond, trying my hardest to not think of the bad things that could happen. "We wait, I guess."

And for the next few hours, that's what we do.


	3. Small Victories

Issa's POV

It's been dark since we got here, wherever here is. I don't quite believe they're telling the truth about being in Germany, but it sure as heck shouldn't be this dark in D.C. at this time. I should've paid more attention when we were studying time zones in class. I'm not sure what Josh is doing, but he's been quiet since we talked about waiting. For a while, I found myself by the vent in case Josh wanted to strike up another conversation. Then, I got bored and started pacing.

I'm fully aware of how stupid I look. Every once in a while I'll look up at the closest camera and scowl, or I'll sit down on the bay window, or one of the beds, or one of the chairs, or somewhere on the floor, and I've even tried to sit on top of the table once or twice. Finally, I just flop down on the bed closest to the window and stare at the ceiling.

I grab a pillow and place it on my stomach wrapping my arms around it, like a child does with her favorite toy. After a few seconds, I slowly move over so I'm lying on my side and curl around it, burying my face in the white fabric. My mind clouds over with an incessant loop of _I want to go home_.

My breath catches in a quiet sob, and tears fall spontaneously from my eyes onto the previously dry pillow. I hate impulsive break-downs. I decide to stay completely still in order to not call attention to myself. With all the security and the soldiers and the cameras, no doubt someone is watching me right now.

To my horror, the door lock clicks. Shooting up with a small gasp, I rub my face dry with my sleeve and jump to my feet. It's "Feliciano". He wears a T-shirt adorned with the Italian flag and jeans, and he wears an unzipped light blue hoodie over his shoulders. He was wearing his blue uniform earlier. I'm slightly taken aback by the normalness of his outfit.

Behind him stands a tall soldier wearing a camouflage uniform. He looks mid-thirties, with a clean-shaven face and a buzz-cut. He closes the door and stands in front of it, crossing his arms, and his expression is almost like he _wants _me to act up.

I still refuse to let my imagination get the best of me. I remind myself that this is real life; this is not that dumb anime. These people are real, and they will hurt me. So what if his name is Feliciano Vargas and he looks and acts exactly how Italy Veneziano looks and acts? So what if my anime theory is the only one that makes the slightest amount of sense?

"_Ciao!"_ chirps the scrawny redhead. "_Ginki desu ka?" _**(Italian: Hello! Japanese: How are you?)**

I take a step back and glare at him through my bangs. The annoying strand of hair they hairsprayed is still standing tall, making me look ridiculous. I hope he gets the hint.

"_Anata ga suita?" _he asks me. In his hands, he holds a ball of rice covered in plastic wrap. With a friendly smile, he extends it towards me, and I take another step back. When I only continue to glower at him, he adds, "_Wakarimasuka?"_ **(Are you hungry? Do you understand?) **

When he walked in, I was planning on giving him the silent treatment. But my answer slips out of my mouth before I can stop it: "_Iranai. Hotto ite yo."_ **(I don't want it. Leave me alone)**

Feliciano lets his arm draw back, and his smile turns into a little pout. "_Nande?" _**(Why?)**

He takes another step closer, and I jump back until I can't anymore. "_Anata wa kiken desu."_** (You are dangerous) **

He tilts his head to the left and lets his arms fall completely down to his sides. It's like he's really stupid enough to believe he hasn't done anything wrong. "_Machigatta desu!"_ he protests enthusiastically. I think he notices I've been crying, and I let my gaze fall to the floor, looking intently at Feliciano's bare feet and my shoes. **(You're wrong!)**

"_Hotto ite!"_ I demand, my voice low and growly. I glance up and around for any weapons I could use, like a lamp or something. Nothing particularly harmful crosses my line of sight, but my hand does reach down and grasp the end of a pillow. Nothing like a good pillow fight, after all. **(Leave me alone!)**

He just keeps blabbering on in Japanese and maybe a little bit of Italian. I can ignore that, but he is dangerously close to my personal space bubble. Finally he crosses the invisible line into my personal space bubble, and I let my arm loose, sending the pillow into his face. It's a bit comical, the way he falls over. I take advantage of his inattentiveness and make it so I am not cornered against the wall.

The soldier yells at me in German, I think, advancing with long strides. I slip my shoe off and stuff it in the pillowcase, hoping I can hit him with it hard enough to get him to keep his distance. But Feliciano jumps up and puts himself between us, hands out in a "Please don't fight" sort of gesture. I guess the soldier has to take orders from him, because he backs down, glaring at me so I know my place.

I keep trying to imagine what Italy would do in this situation, and then matching it up with what Feliciano is doing. Mostly, he does what I expect him to. Except, when I hit him, he didn't immediately start crying. I guess maybe I should have hit him harder? Anyway, he's trying to calm me down, changing the subject by asking me my name. Like he doesn't know. When I just stand there, glaring and in a position to hit him again, he says, "_Namae wa? Isabella desu, ne?"_**(What's your name? It's Isabella, right?)**

"_Shinsetsu kurete hoshikunai,"_ I inform him, still ready to swing the pillow, "_to tasukete kurete hoshikunai."_ **(I don't want your kindness, and I don't want your help)**

For a second, I see myself in his eyes: face red, eyes wet, one shoe off, frantic battle position; I'm just a kid. Just a stupid, stubborn little girl, trying desperately to maintain her courage. After all, the bravery of a child is nothing. All my attempts are futile. I can see it in his eyes; he pities me.

I step out of my defensive position, holding the pillowcase with one clenched hand by my side. I'm just tired of this. It's stupid, keeping me here._ I'm_ stupid. I can't give them anything of value. I interrupt Feliciano's seemingly endless ramblings with a softer, more polite, "_Hitori ni shite oi kudasai."_ **(It's a kinder way of saying "Please leave me alone.")**

He looks at me for a second, stuttering to a stop, and then he just nods, face blank of the happy-go-lucky grin I've gotten rather used to; he replaced it with a sadly curious look. It's like he knows exactly what he and his friends have done, but he'd prefer to act otherwise. On the way out, he puts the rice ball on the table with a mumbled sentence or two that I don't have the knowledge or patience to translate, and he leaves. The soldier lets him pass through the door first, choosing to have an extra second or two to stare threateningly at me. I don't bring myself to make eye contact, instead pretending to gaze longingly out the window while I try to stop the tears from flowing again.

I just don't know how I'm supposed to react to this. I mean, there are certain people whom I act differently towards. Like, I'm more myself around Mom and Renae, but polite towards people I don't know, people who I don't want to scare off. I'm a little bit snarky around my mom's friends, the ones who have known us since I was born. I can also be sarcastic around people at school I try to impress; sometimes I say things without filtering and they turn out to make everyone laugh.

But this—I just don't know. I'm not going to be myself around these men; I'm too naïve, too off-guard, and you can bet that I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect myself. I don't really want to be polite to them after the way they've treated me. I don't know enough Japanese to be cynical. I dunno, maybe I can just give them the cold shoulder; I'm really good at that, if nothing else. But I can't do that, either, because I have to translate for Josh.

For a while after that, I fiddle with a single blue pen I had tucked in my back pocket. I doodle on my hands, practicing the hiragana symbols I learned in class with song lyrics I spent too much time memorizing. I wonder what they'd do if I drew on the walls. For rebellion's sake, I make a long mark on the wall touching the window in my little niche. Small victories are better than no victories, after all. I just leave that there to remind myself that I could do worse with my ballpoint. Pen's mightier than the sword, and all that….

I fall asleep on the cushion on the windowsill, hood bunched up under my head like a pillow, glasses held tightly in one hand, and my pen in the other. When I wake up a few minutes later, I realize that my crunched position brought me back to reality. So, I cave in and lie on the bed, which I didn't initially ever intend to do at all. I don't hide myself under the covers; I feel that sends the message that I'm comfortable here. Since I'm far from that, I prefer to send the message that this placement is temporary. Which, I hope, it is.

My wrists are a shiny pink color. They kinda hurt, too. I avoid drawing on the raw lines in fear of irritating them further. I think it's from the duct tape in the car, when I woke up and started struggling. I can't help but wonder if I have a few bruises on my neck from when he choked me earlier.

I suddenly come to the realization that that was an attempt on my life. As I impulsively stroke my neck as gently as I can, I imagine scenarios where that could have gone differently. He could've succeeded in strangling me. Failed at killing me, but left me badly injured. Skipped the strangulation part and gone straight for his gun. All these depictions end up with me either hurt or dead, and the more my mind brings forth, the more I feel myself drift off into hysterics.

Lying down and trying to sleep doesn't seem like such a good idea anymore. I can't sit still, I just _can't_. I pace rapidly back and forth, hyperventilating. I am terrified. I could be dead anytime they wanted me to be. I could never see my family again. I could be trapped in here forever, living out the rest of my life as their experiment. If that happens, I'll never grow up and get a job, fall in love, graduate school, go to college, et cetera, et cetera…. These thoughts scare me senseless, and as my pacing route gets shorter and my steps longer, I realize I'm crying again.

I make myself sit back down on the bed, grabbing for the pillow I claimed and burying my face in it. It takes a while, but eventually, I cry myself out and fall asleep.

I don't know how long it is until I am pulled unwillingly from unconsciousness. Annoyed at waking up, I flip from one side to the other, curling my legs up and bringing my knuckles to my lips, fingers curled into a fist. The other hand I leave twisted in an uncomfortable position, palm up, arm pinned under my body.

Then someone touches my head.

Before even opening my eyes, I roll over in the other direction and fall off the side, hitting my head on the floor. After taking a second to register and try to bury the pain, I shove my glasses on my face and peek over across the bed. Standing there in a white and black t-shirt and black skinny jeans is, unmistakably, Prussia.

He raises his eyebrows and lifts his hands in a surrender gesture, exhaling in a way that sounds like a laugh. It's not very calming, and I feel a little spark of annoyance somewhere underneath all my panic. "_Yaa,"_ he says, dropping one hand and waving the other. **(Hey—greeting)** He smiles, and I see his pointed canines, and I have to stare at them—they look real. Very real. No one's natural teeth are that sharp. For a couple minutes, he has a one-sided conversation, and I stare at him, disbelief freezing me in the spot I fell.

The man seems to be getting frustrated at me. Maybe it's the language barrier; he keeps saying something about Japanese and English and a couple other languages, waiting for my response. Maybe he heard that I somewhat can understand, and now he's confused because I'm not showing any signs that I do.

I just can't believe that this is really happening. I mean, I don't know if I'm going crazy, or what, because this is too similar to the characters. This man is too comparable to Prussia. H—he _looks _like Prussia, he _acts_ like Prussia, he _sounds_ like Prussia, but all laws of nature deny that Prussia can be standing before me. So what do I believe—my senses or my knowledge?!

"_Namae wa?"_ he asks me, walking a couple steps around the bed. I jump up, immediately awake, and it doesn't take long for me to be cornered against the wall. When I stubbornly remain silent, he adds, "_Ore no namae wa Gilbert desu."_ **(What's your name? My name's Gilbert.)**

_Gilbert._ Of _course_ his name is Gilbert.

There's suddenly a small peeping noise, and I notice the small yellow bird on his head, nestled comfortably into his hair. It stands up and hops down onto his shoulder. "_Wakarimasu ka?"_ he asks, standing a good distance away, hands on his hips.**(Do you understand?)**

I don't answer, even though I do understand. Acting like I don't seems like a good plan. "_Anata ga rikai shite imasu!"_ **(You do understand!) **he crows suddenly in a triumphant voice, pointing at my hands. Oh, right. I wrote on them in Japanese. Whoops.

"_Dore dake anata wa Nihongo wo hanasu no desuka?"_ I have to stop and translate—_Okay, "anata"—you, "Nihongo"—Japanese, "hanasu"—speak: How much do I speak?_ When I work it out, I just shrug again and tilt my head from side to side. I'm trying to say that I don't speak much; I think he gets the message, and I'm assuming he asks why I still won't talk. I don't know why I won't talk. I just don't want to. I still can; my silence is just my kind of personal victory.

"_Ore to kuru,"_ he says after a few more minutes of my quiet. I understand, and I shake my head solemnly in answer. "_Hai! Ikimashou!"_ Gilbert jumps for my wrist. Without thinking, I lash out with my foot, managing to kick him in the stomach. While he doubles over, I scamper back over the bed, distancing myself from him. I consider locking myself in the bathroom. The bird falls off his shoulder and flies around in circles over his head, squawking up a storm. **(Come with me. Yes! Let's go!)**

"_Mondai wa nan desu ka?!"_ Gilbert sputters at me, still hunched over in pain. The anger from his face falls off, and he stands up, looking at me now with an expression of pity. "_Ah, sou,"_ he says simply. "_Kowai desu ka?"_ **(What's your problem? Oh, right. Are you afraid?)**

His sympathy irritates me, and I'm caught between blowing my top and bursting into tears. Unable to figure out which I would rather do, I feel my expression ripple between the two emotions, never taking a single form. "_Hai,"_ I say simply, making the impromptu decision to just be truthful. **(Yes.)**

"_Nai de,"_ he answers as his annoying bird shuts up and lands back onto his head, as if this is the simplest thing to do. "_Ore wa tomodachi desu."_ **(Don't be. I'm a friend.)**

I shake my head, glaring at him. "_Anata wa kiken desu."_ **(You are dangerous.)**

He frowns at me. "_Iie."_ **(No.)** For a while, we just look at each other. He looks slightly upset that I would ever think he would hurt a fly. But pardon me, Mr. Gilbert, but that's what runs through my mind after being kidnapped. Finally, he repeats himself. "_Namae wa?"_ **(What's your name?)**

I remain silent for a few minutes, looking at the hiragana marks on my hands. "_Isabella desu,"_ I answer at last. I prefer to use my full name; I don't want to make it seem like I like him enough to use a nickname. **(It's Isabella)**

"_Hajimemashite!"_ he chirps, showing off his pointed canines. He then puts his arms by his sides and sinks down into a bow, a trait I learned in Japanese class; it's supposed to be respectful…. Also, it's more commonly found in Asian countries, not European. **(Nice to meet you!)**

"…_Doozo yoroshiku onigaishimasu,"_ I voice after a while, copying the bow with the feminine version; instead of putting my arms by my side, I fold my hands in front of me. I also refused to bow as low as he did, which can be seen as disrespectful: the deeper the bow, the more reverence indicated. **(This phrase doesn't have an exact translation, but it's supposed to mean something along the lines of "treat me kindly" or something like that. It's just something you say after you meet someone for the first time.)**

Then it's awkwardly silent. I don't want to talk to him; he doesn't seem to know what to say, and he doesn't know if I'll understand. He asks me again how much Japanese I know. I give a half-hearted shrug, brushing my hair out of my face.

"_Ore to kuru,"_ Gilbert tells me again, gentler. He extends his hand and tries to give a reassuring smile. When I just look at him for a minute, he adds, "_Kowai naide."_ **(Come with me. Don't be afraid.)**

"_…Wakatta…,"_ I finally mumble, taking a hesitant step forward. **(…Okay….)**

I reluctantly follow him out of the room. He keeps looking back at me, making sure I haven't run away. While we walk, he talks rapid-fire, excitedly babbling about stuff I can't understand. I let my mind wander, examining the hallways. Soldiers converse amongst each other in German, their day just starting. Back home, judging by how tired I feel, I'd say it's around one in the morning, give or take a few hours.

Gilbert stops me in front of a door. He opens it and goes inside. After peeking inside, I guess that this is his room. Two walls are painted black, while the other two stay white. A dresser standing against the far wall is painted a bloody red shade; its drawers are all open, and clothes overflow onto the floor. The carpet is the same awful green shade as it is in my room, though there are many stains. Overall, the room gives off an air of unkemptness.

He goes to a desk on one of the side walls, opens it, and pulls out a spiral notebook and a plain yellow pencil. Then, he comes back and offers them to me. I give him a skeptical look, but I take them nonetheless. "_Ikimashou!"_ he says enthusiastically, grabbing my wrist and dragging me along. **(Let's go!)**

I let out an embarrassingly audible gasp and start thrashing, trying to free myself. Gilbert lets go and stops, turning to look at me. "_Nani?"_ he asks innocently with a twinge of annoyance in his voice. **(What?)**

"_Nai de,"_ I tell him, taking a defensive step back. "Just— don't touch me." **(Don't.)**

Unwilling to argue with me, he just gives an uncaring, "_Hai, hai. Ikimashou."_ **(Yeah, yeah. Let's go.)**

I regret my decision to follow him, but I don't have much of a choice, now. This place is crawling with soldiers doing their morning routine, watching me, ready to spring into action if I make a scene. So I tighten my grip on the pencil and notebook and suck it up.

Gilbert stops, spinning around abruptly to look at me. I nervously take a step back. Dramatically, he points at a chair. "_Isu,"_ he tells me. **(Chair)**

I already know this, having learned it in class, so I slowly nod. It crosses my mind that he's trying to teach me Japanese. As soon as I realize this, I take another half-step back, glaring at him. "_Yamare."_ **(Stop that.)**

He stops, his smile fading. He lowers his hand and crosses his arms across his chest, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "_Nande?"_ he asks, and his tone is snarky. **(Why?)**

"_Tasukete kurete hoshikunai,"_ I inform him, sticking the pencil in the spiral loop of the notebook and thrusting it at the man. "_Hotto ite yo."_ **(I don't want your help. Leave me alone.)**

I wish I could say something else; I must be starting to sound like a broken record. I don't want their help, or their kindness, and leave me alone, and that's all I seem to be able to say. I wish this was easier. But then again, judging by how much trouble I've gotten in with hardly saying a word, maybe a nonexistent language barrier would get me something worse than getting shoved against the wall by my neck.

Gilbert just looks at the notebook, sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Then he looks at me and says simply, "_Iie."_ **(No.)**

I exhale deeply and let my arm fall back to my side, my bangs flopping over my glasses. I can't deal with this.

"…_Isu,"_ Gilbert tells me again.

"_Wakarimasu!"_ I snap at him, lifting my gaze to stare angrily at him. "_Baka janai!"_A couple of soldiers glance over at us, looking for orders. The man just waves them down and looks at me blankly. **(I know! I'm not stupid!)**

I hate the way he looks at me. If it's not enough that his eyes are an unnatural shade of vermillion, it's his expression, and the way that he won't quit _staring_. I mean, for goodness' _sake_, I'm not some sort of zoo animal. I'm not a helpless little girl who needs saving. And if I _do_ need help, I certainly don't want it from _him, _or _any_ of the people here, with Josh as the only exception.

Gilbert just keeps talking. I don't understand half of it, but it's got something to do with teaching. I, of course, remain stubborn as a mule, standing in one place with my arms crossed. I realize this is a childish move, but due to the fact that Gilbert doesn't seem to want to touch me, he can't make me move. He, however, is just as inflexible as I am, copying my position while discussing whatever it is he's talking about.

A sudden loud bellow of Gilbert's name makes me flinch. It's Ludwig, and it's obvious why he's angry—I'm out of my room. I whip my head around, looking for a place to hide, but there isn't one, and I'm not going to put myself behind Gilbert.

Gilbert plays it cool, unafraid of the stronger man. He tries to just laugh about it, which Ludwig does _not_ find very amusing. They switch to German, now arguing. Gilbert tries to put his hand on my shoulder, but I whack it away. A second after, I realize that probably wasn't a smart move on my part; I could've just moved away, but instead, I hit someone Ludwig likes, tolerates at the least, and I take a step back, waiting for his reaction. He just looks at the other like I proved a point.

As their gestures get wilder and their voices angrier, I find myself edging more and more away until Ludwig notices and growls at me, and two soldiers materialize behind me. One of them is the first female soldier I've encountered here, her chestnut hair swirled into a high bun. She's fairly young, and it's obvious that she's strong. The man next to her could be her twin. It's not like I was trying to escape; my brain just went into panic-overload, and I was looking for a safe haven rather than a getaway route.

Gilbert opposes the presence of the soldiers, taking me by my sleeve away from them a couple steps. I'm so scared I forget to look angry. Anyway, Gilbert tries to wave them back to whatever they were doing, but Ludwig is still seething. Even though most of his anger isn't directed at me, I still find myself quietly hyperventilating, unable to move because of my fear numbing me.

I tilt my head towards the ground to they don't see my close my eyes. After a few more minutes of their loud and frankly very scary bickering, I feel Gilbert's arm loop around my shoulders. I flinch slightly, ducking my head more. Ludwig raises his voice again, and I can't tell if it's at me or at him. I don't want to start crying, and I like Gilbert a lot more than I like his brother, so I turn towards his chest and hide my face in his shirt.

I hear Gilbert's triumphant gibberish, and he wraps his other arm protectively around me. I open my eyes, staring into the fabric warmed with his body heat, and I am torn. I don't need his help—I'm so scared I can hardly think—just push him away—I can't do this alone and he's being so nice—_I don't need his help, I can handle this myself—no, I can't_—!

So, unsure of what to do to correct my actions, I stand there, arms stiff at my sides, hands clenched into fists, face buried in a stranger's chest; he smells like cheap beer and week-old sausage, but that's a small price to pay for solace. I feel weak, but I can't make myself face the enemy. I only concentrate on my breathing, listening to the conversation I can't understand. Their tones are cooling off, becoming calmer, slowly, but surely.

Gilbert lets go of me, and I meekly take a few steps back, not raising my head or gaze. I didn't notice this before, but Gilbert is only wearing socks, and Ludwig is wearing athletic shoes. My shoes are black Converse, old, covered in red hiragana nonsense, and falling apart. I don't care. They're comfortable.

They switched back to Japanese without me noticing. I realize this after picking out a few words, and they make me snap to attention. Ludwig called Gilbert Prussia. Not noticing my newfound alert expression, Gilbert retaliates, starting by calling Ludwig West.

_Impossible._

"Ludwig" stutters to a stop, looking intently at me with an annoyed curiosity. "_Nani?"_ he snaps when I stare in disbelief. **(What?)**

"West—Prussia—," I stutter, pointing at each one in turn. Then I shake my head. "Nothing," I mumble without trying to translate, dropping my gaze to the floor again. It can't be nothing, though. This is too weird. They _act_ like their character, and they _look_ like their characters, and they _talk_ like their characters, but their characters are just that—_characters_. _Fictional_ characters. _They're not real._ Seriously, how can they exist?!

I glance up again, noting that they haven't said anything for a while. I am just in time to see the last bits of their panicky expressions leave their faces. I suppose it solidifies my theory; why would they be alarmed if they weren't somehow hundreds of years old and trying to keep it a secret? Ludwig is the first to recover. "_Machigatta desu,_" he says, and then he grabs my shoulder and starts steering me back in the general direction of my room. **(You're wrong.)**

I don't resist, even though he is using unnecessary roughness, his thumb digging into my collarbone. Gilbert, however, jumps to defend me. I don't like it, being saved like I can't protect myself; but I'm just tired of this, and I'm losing my ability to care what happens at this point.

Kiku materializes behind Gilbert. I guess he heard the raised voices and came to see what he can do to keep the peace. If he didn't kidnap me, Kiku would seem like a pretty cool guy. Because Gilbert doesn't want for the soldiers or Ludwig to take me back to my room, and Ludwig doesn't want for Gilbert to, the compromise is for Kiku to do it. But while they were arguing, I heard it—Gilbert slipped up, starting to call Kiku _Nihon_. Japan. He corrected himself, of course, and he shot me a worried glance, as if he was wondering if I caught his mistake, and if I did, what I would make of it. I tried not to give any signals that I did.

So, I walk slightly in front of Kiku, hands shoved in my pockets. It's been a quiet and awkward couple of minutes, but I've been thinking too much to notice it. "_Nihon,_" I finally pluck up my courage to say. I watch his reaction out of the corner of my eye. "_Anata wa Nihon desu ka?"_ **(Japan. Are you Japan?)**

He stiffens as he walks and looks at me, hands curled into fists. That is the most of a response that I get from him. When he speaks, he sounds just as cool and collected as usual. "_Watashi no namae wa Kiku desu. Nihon-jin desu."_ **(My name is Kiku. I'm Japanese.)**

I keep looking at him for a few more moments, keeping my expression unconvinced, just because I like how uncomfortable it seems to make him. Then I let out a slight, "Hm," and turn my eyes forward. I think of ways to tip him off that I know who he really is. Or, maybe I could use the information as my secret weapon. Surprise them enough to escape.

"_Sumimasen,"_ Kiku asks, breaking through my thoughts. I glance over at him to show I'm listening. He looks uncomfortable. "…_Anime wo mimasuka?" _ **(Excuse me. Do you watch anime?)**

I give him a ghost of a smile. A smirk. An _I know your secret_ expression. And his discomfort at that makes me happy. Small revenge is better than none. After all he's done to me, knowing the secret he keeps closest is mine to reveal if I so please. He can't do anything about it, and he knows it. He doesn't ask again, proving that it wasn't just chit chat.

Kiku walks in front of me to unlock the red door to my room, and he stands aside. Though his expression remains neutral, I can feel his gaze questioning me, perhaps wondering how I got the information, if I really understand. I look back at him, raising my eyebrows. I'm not quite sure what message I'm trying to convey, but I see it has an effect as Kiku closes the door and locks it.

"Issa?" Josh asks at once, his voice muffled from the vent.

"Yeah, I'm here," I call back, walking to the air duct and lying down in front of it.

As soon as the words leave my mouth he exhales sharply. "Oh my _gosh,_ don't _do_ that! I woke up and you were gone! I—I thought they _killed_ you or something! _What happened_?" he demands.

I raise myself up on my elbows, taken aback by his intensity. "Dude, I'm _fine_! Nothing happened. I just—" I take a deep breath and start again. "You know how we were talking about how they look like the guys from Hetalia?"

"Yes…." His reply is skeptical, still slightly angry and scared, and I can tell he just wants for me to answer his question.

"I—I think they're real. Those guys, I—I think they really are the countries." I hear him scoff, and I jump to defend my theory. "No, it's just— I met Prussia, okay? And it's the way they talk to each other, and they occasionally accidentally call each other by their country names."

"So what?! Maybe they've seen it too, and they're just trying to mess with our heads!"

"No, they literally looked scared when I started to piece it together. I asked Kiku if he was Japan, and—well, of course he denied it—but after, he asked me if I watched anime. He wasn't just making small talk—he wanted to know if I knew."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. I just tried to be mysterious."

The emotion in his voice drops, and he gives a weak chuckle. "Mysterious. How'd that work out?"

"I think I sent my message clear enough," I respond, changing positions to lie on my stomach, arms as a pillow.

Josh doesn't answer for a while, and I feel bad for scaring him. I just lie there for a while, listening to the vent noises and the many footsteps of people outside my room. "So, you think you're right?" he asks after a while. "They're real?"

"…I can't be sure. They're definitely hiding something, and the only thing that fits is what they really are."

"How do you do that?" I'm about to ask what it is exactly that I can do when he clarifies, "Read people's minds?"

"I'm not reading their minds," I correct, "just their body language. I—I don't really know. I guess I've just had a lot of time to practice."

"…Are you talking about school?"

The blunt question brings me up short. "Yeah," I finally respond. "I don't have any friends; what am I supposed to do? No one will tell me if I'm annoying them or not, so I have to piece out the answer myself." I'm surprised at myself for telling him this, and even more surprised that I could sort out my feelings into words. Every time I try to explain it to my mom or my sister, I end up babbling gibberish. This is also a very personal bit of information about myself; all the time, I try to act like I don't care, that I'm perfectly fine on my own, which, most of the time, I am. But there are days when I cry myself to sleep because I'm lonely and I know if I try to do something about it, I'll end up lonelier than before.

"…Wow. That sucks."

"Tell me about it."

The conversation dies after that, and we both let it. I'm too tired to think, so I just lie there, comfortable on the carpeted floor. "What time do you think it is?" Josh asks through a yawn.

"I don't know." I yawn, too. "Past my bedtime."

He laughs softly. "Me, too."

"Sorry—I realize I didn't tell you what happened." I take a deep breath. "Prussia came by—well, Italy came by first, but he left fairly quickly—anyway, Prussia. He took me out of my room to try to teach me Japanese. I got mad at him because I didn't want him to help me—now that I'm back, I kinda wonder why. I guess it was kind of a pride thing. Anyway—Germany found us arguing, and then he and Prussia started arguing, and then Japan came and took me back. And then that's it."

"Aw. You should've stayed and learned, and then you could've helped me."

"I know," I say regretfully. "Like I said—pride thing. I don't want to be treated like a kid."

"Enh, I dunno. If being treated like an adult means they can beat me up all the time, I'd choose to be treated like a kid."

"Makes sense."

Josh yawns again. "Seriously, though. The sun's up and everything, but it should be, like, past midnight."

"Yeah." I yawn, too. "If we're going to be staying here for a long time, I'm just not going to try to change my sleeping schedule. They took me from America; they can deal with me during American daytime."

"That seems kinda risky," he comments. "They're all bigger and stronger than us. Therefore, they can hurt us if we don't do what they say."

I snort when he says 'bigger and stronger.' "You do realize I'm, like, a foot taller than Japan, right?"

"Yeah, okay, enjoy being tall. Meanwhile, I'm over here sitting pretty at 5'3"."

I laugh. "It's not my fault!" I protest. "I guess it's my dad's fault. I passed my mom when I was twelve."

"Yeah, it's my dad's fault I'm short," he complains. "Greg—my brother—got Mom's tall genes."

"I know who your brother is," I tell him. "I mean, your mom is my mom's best friend, so it's kinda hard not to know all of your family."

"Touché," he hums. It's quiet for a while after that. I start thinking about our families. Josh reads my mind and speaks before I can. "I wonder what they're doing right now."

"I don't know," I respond. "Probably sleeping, considering the time."

"Maybe." He pauses. "What if they're not? What if they're awake still? I know I can't sleep; too worried…."

I think about that, and it makes me sad. I picture Mom sitting awake by the phone in the kitchen, possibly a mug of untouched coffee in her hands, waiting for a call that won't come. My mind brings me to the next morning; she'll be there, finally asleep with her head on the counter, and Renae will walk up and have to see her with tear tracks down her face.

"They'll be fine," I make myself say. "They have to be."

"We must be all over the news," he muses. "I mean, kidnapped in broad daylight, hundreds of witnesses, no way to escape from the police, but somehow, they managed it. We got here in less than half an hour, a whole different continent. That's some news-worthy stuff."

"I don't want to be on the news," I admit. "People will look at me funny when we get back."

"They're going to either way," he points out. I sigh and agree, and I curl my legs up. "I just want to go home, man. I don't care how weird people look at me."

"Yeah…," I concur forlornly.

After that, I fall asleep again. And I don't wake up until the door opens.

**knock knock**

**whos there**

**abrupt and stupid chapter ending**


	4. Jia Li

Jia Li's POV

I wake up exausted at noon on January 22nd. For a long time, I just lounge around in bed, trying to fall back into the warmth of sleep. I had a dream last night; to be more specific, it was more of a nightmare. Now that I'm conscious, I can't remember the specifics; all I recall is being scared. Hands grabbed at me, put me somewhere I didn't want to be. I kept screaming, trying to get away, but to no avail. That's when I woke up and instantly forgot most of it.

Someone knocks on my door, and it opens before I can approve their presence. It's my mom. "Did you _just_ wake up?" she asks, laughing slightly.

"No," I respond indignantly. "Like, half an hour ago." I sit up and stretch, feeling my elbows crack with a gross yet satisfying pleasure.

"Well, you should get ready for the day." She walks in and yanks my curtains open, letting in the bright light. "Mei called; she's coming over sometime soon. And I have to go run some errands, so I'll need you to watch Fai for a while."

"Okay," I say through a yawn, wincing at the light too bright for my eyes. She leaves. I get up and shuffle down the hall to the bathroom. Fai, my three-year-old brother, has made a mess in the bathtub; little bits of cereal and milk float around in about ten centimeters of soapy water. I sigh and pull the plug. There's a small giggle behind me.

"Fai, did you make yourself breakfast again?" I ask, though the answer is obvious. He giggles again and runs to grab on to my leg. I get down on my knees and tickle him. "Did you? Huh? Did you?"

"Yes!" he shrieks through gales of playful laughter. "An' I took a bath by myself!"

"Wow," I praise, smoothing back his wet hair. "All by yourself? No help at all?"

"Li-li, I _told_ you already!" he whines, lying across my lap.

I lean in close to him and take a deep breath through my nose. "I don't believe you. You smell bad."

"I do not!" he squawks indignantly.

"Okay, okay, _fine_," I laugh, poking his chubby cheek. Then I push him up and give him a nudge towards the door. "Go have Mom put on your show. It's my turn to take a bath."

He chirps, "Okay!" and runs out, yelling, "MOMMY!"

I close and lock the door before stripping off my shorts and T-shirt and hopping into the cleaner-than-before bathtub, and I turn on the shower head. The water is too cold for a few minutes, and then it's too hot. It takes a lot of adjusting to get the temperature right.

After washing my hair and body, I hop out, wringing out my hair over the sink. I wrap a towel around myself, pick up my pajamas, and walk to my room, where I change into a red blouse with a white skirt. Then I sit on my unmade bed and run a brush through the tangles of my long, black hair. Sometimes I wonder if I should get my hair cut; it falls down to my elbows. Once my hair is relatively knot-free, I twist it up into two pigtail buns.

Fai's sitting on the floor in front of the television, cramming dry cereal into his mouth. He doesn't even look up when I walk by, too involved in his cartoon. I fix myself some leftovers from last night for breakfast (lunch?).

The doorbell rings. My mom, who just walked up and is closest to the door, opens it. There stands my best friend, Mei. Her black-dyed-blonde, pixie-styled hair has a few new blue and purple streaks. Once again, she's wearing too much makeup. Her ever-present black jacket hangs over her band T-shirt and ripped jeans. "Hi, Mrs. Xing!" she greets my mom. After being ushered inside, she acknowedges me. I just smile at her, my mouth full of rice. Then she says hi to Fai, and he gets up to go cling to her leg, shrieking, "Mei!"

Mei laughs, and she somehow manages to make her way over to where I sit, while Fai cackles with delight and screeches, "Higher!" I pry off my brother and hold him on my lap with one arm, taking another bite of rice with my other. Fai struggles, and I end up putting him down; he runs back over to his overturned bowl of cereal, flops down on the carpet, and continues eating it.

Mei jumps right into a story about some guys she saw on the bus. Apparently, they weren't _on_ the bus, she just saw them out the window. According to her, they were "_So hot!" _ and only a few years older than us.

"Yeah, that's nice," I answer nonchalantly, finishing my meal and putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Too bad I'll never see them again," she says.

"Yep," I respond. "Too bad."

"Girls, I'm leaving," Mom calls. "I'll be gone for a while; got another marrige counseling meeting."

"Okay," I call back. It's kind of sad; because there are more men than woman in China, technically speaking, my mom could have chosen anyone she wanted, and he would have treated her right. But she chose my dad, who ended up cheating on her. Now, they're seperated. Still married, but not living together. It's not exactly a pleasant thing for anyone to go through, and sometimes I miss my father, choosing to think about the good times rather than the bad.

Mom leaves, and Mei and I talk for a while, occasionally checking up on Fai to make sure he hasn't accidentally changed the channel to something inappropiate. Then, she insists on putting makeup on me and doing my nails, girly things I don't normally care for. It makes her happy, so I put up with it.

Fai yells from across the room, asking me what a certain swear word means. We both look up to see that he switched to some action movie or something. Mei jumps up and clicks off the TV. "That's enough ot that!" she laughs, scooping Fai in her arms.

"Just in time, too," I note, looking at the clock. "It's _someone's_ naptime!"

Fai wails that he will _not_ take a nap, that he doesn't _need_ one, that he's not _tired. _I take him from Mei, ignoring his thrashing and sharp fingernails, carrying him to his room, and I drop him on his bed. He's still chanting excuses, face screwed up and wet with indignant tears.

"What if I take a nap with you?" I offer. He stops crying and looks up at me through dark eyes.

"_Fine_," he grumbles, lying down reluctantly. Mei hovers in the doorway, looking amused and slightly bored, and she comes in and joins in on the group nap in Fai's small bed. Both of our legs hang extended over the edge.

Mei and I both feign unconsciousness until Fai stops fidgeting and falls asleep. Then, we get up and wander back to the living room, where Mei discusses boys and I try to listen and sketch in my sketchbook.

"See, this is why you don't have a boyfriend," she tells me, referring to how much time I spend with my drawings and how little I spend with humans.

I look up and fake a glare at her. Then, after we both laugh, "I don't really care. I don't need a boyfriend."

"That's what I thought until I met Shen!" she exclaims, texting someone on her phone. "Y'know, Enlai told me he likes you. He's pretty cute, don't you think?"

"Enlai?" I make a face. "He's obnoxious. If anything, I like Kang. He's smart, quiet, creative..."

Mei looks up at me with newfound interest. "Oh, so you have a _crush_ on him?" she asks excitedly.

"What?!" I exclaim, laughing. "No, I said I prefer him to Enlai!"

"And then you listed what you like about him!"

"That doesn't mean anything!"

Both of us are giggling like little kids at the conversation. The laughter lasts for longer than necessary.

There's a sound like someone unlocking the front door. "Mom's home," I note. It's been three hours since she left. "That was quick, considering how long those meetings usually last." Mei nods. I sketch a few more lines on my drawing as the door swings open. "Hi, Mom. Fai's taking a nap, and Mei's still here."

"Obviously," she snorts from her place on the couch opposite, fingers flying with her texts.

I hear footsteps, but Mom hasn't responded. "Geez," I mutter. "The meeting was that bad?" Still no answer. "Mom?" I turn around.

Standing over me is an unfamiliar man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a green jacket over a black T-shirt. I'm only able to think, _This isn't my mom,_ when he puts a gloved hand over my mouth and starts to pull me over the back of the couch.

I let out a muffled scream and start fighting. I hear Mei's gasp of surprise and the man's grunt of pain as I manage to kick him between the legs. All of a sudden, there's a crash, glass spills over me, and the man's grasp on me slacks: Mei threw the lamp at him, and it hit him directly on the forehead.

I'm not hurt, so I give him another firm kick to the groin before breaking away, grabbing Mei's hand and the portable house phone, and run down the hall, making a beeline for Fai's room. He's not stunned for long, and I hear his loud, angry bellow and his loud footsteps chasing us.

We hurtle into Fai's room and slam the door shut, locking it. Almost immediately, I hear him pund his fists against the wood, hard enough to break it. "Barricade!" I shout at Mei, and I'm thankful when she gets what I'm trying to say. We grab Fai's dresser and push it in front of the door.

"Call the police!" Mei nearly screams at me. I fumble with the phone in my hand—this is the reason I grabbed it, I think. Fai wakes up with a sleepy, "What's goin' on, Li-li?" Mei gathers him up in her arms, and he throws his arms around her neck. "Those guys— they're the ones I saw on the bus!" she tells me hysterically.

I, for one, didn't notice how "_So hot"_ the only guy I saw was, given the fact that he was trying to take me somewhere. I finish pressing the buttons with trembling fingers, and I hold the phone to my ear and back away, trying to block out the sound of Fai's scared crying, Mei's scared breathing, and the man's pounding on the door.

"Hello, what's your emergency?" the woman on the other end asks in a voice too calm for this situation.

"Th—there's someone in my house!" I shriek at her.

"Please calm down, Miss. Where are you?" I scream my address at her. "We'll have a few police officers there shortly. What's your name? Is anyone hurt?"

"My name's Jia Li Xing, and I'm here with my little brother Fai and my friend, Mei Huing. No one's hurt yet, but we're hiding in my brother's room, and he's going to break down the door!" I added the last part after the split-second realization which sends even more adrenaline to rush through my body.

The man's voice yells at us in a different language that I don't understand. I can't recognize it, either. But his message is clear—_Get out of there before I come in._ I back closer to Mei and Fai, phone still clutched at my ear. "He's going to break the door down. He's going to break the door down. He's going to break the door down," I realize I'm chanting.

"Please calm down, Jia Li," the woman on the other end soothes. "I'll stay on the line. Talk to me, Jia Li."

"Wh—what do you want me to say?" I manage, flinching as the man body slams on the door again.

"It doesn't matter. Just stay calm and collected."

"I think he's after you," Mei says quietly, eyes still locked on the door.

"Why?!" I hysterically ask. "I—I'm nothing special! I haven't done anything wrong! Wh—why would he be after _me_?!"

"I don't know." Her voice is flat and strangely calm. "But he went immediately for you. He barely even looked at me."

I'm not sure how to react to the information. The woman on the phone keeps reminding me to stay calm and to distract myself but I can't and all she can hear is my hysterical breathing and occasional whimpers or gasps as the door bangs in its frame and Fai only wants me to hold him so I have him crying into my shoulder with one arm and I hold the phone with my other and I can't think straight and please send someone to help!

There's a crash louder than the rest, and the door splinters and breaks. We all scream, Fai included, and we back up into the corner. Mei stands in front of me, blocking me from the man. She's right; there's another two men behind the blond man who grabbed me. "He's in the room_, he's in the room!"_ I scream into the phone.

The blond man jumps over the debris and pulls out a hand gun. "Gun...," I whimper into the receiver. The only one making noise is Fai now, sobbing hysterically into my shoulder. I gently bounce him up and down, whispering, "Shhhh...Shhhhh..."

The man makes a gesture at Mei: he moves his hand side to side. It's a _move_ gesture. He's trying to get to me. I whimper, and the lady on the phone reminds me again that help is on the way and to stay calm. Mei doesn't move.

When he makes the gesture again, and Mei still doesn't move, he makes a phone gesture and holds out his free hand. "He wants the phone," I inform the woman, and I'm surprised to hear the calmness in my voice that Mei had. I realize it's not because I'm at peace; it's numbness. My voice is numb.

"Give it to him," she encourages, and then she reminds me again that help will be here soon.

I shakily hold out the phone over Mei's shoulder. He advances to take it. Once it's in his hand, he hangs up and throws it on the floor, and he steps on it so it crunches under his boot. Then, because he's still within arm's length of me, he grabs Mei's shoulder and pushes her out of the way, flinging her into the arms of the second man I didn't notice— a man who looks vaguely Japanese, wearing a white sweatshirt with black jeans and a sword hilted at his side. He grabs her arms, and she struggles and cries out.

I hold on to Fai with both hands. The man orders something in his different language. "I don't understand you," I gasp, the numbness gone, emotion shaking my voice. He starts to take Fai away from me. "No!" I exclaim, turning slightly to protect my brother.

The man's lost his patience with me. His strong hands grab my shoulder and spin me back around, and he yanks Fai out of my reach. "Li-li!" he shrieks, swinging around his meaty fists. I scream again in protest, stretching for him. Cradling the fighting toddler with one arm, he clamps his other strong hand over my mouth, pushing me back against the wall simultaneously, and I fall silent and still, closing my eyes.

Where are the police sirens!? How come I can't hear them yet?!

The man lets go of my mouth, but he wraps his arm around my neck in a headlock, dragging me out of Fai's room, littered with bits of wood. The Japanese man brings Mei, who is still fighting claw and tooth. I only squirm a little because he's almost choking me. He takes us to the bathroom where Fai ate his breakfast, and he gently places my brother down on the floor. Fai runs up to me and clings to my leg.

The Japanese man brings Mei in, and he ties her hands together in front of her with duct tape, and then he pushes her down so she has to sit on the floor against the far wall. The blond man pries Fai off me and deposits him on Mei's lap. "Li-li!" he sobs.

"Stay with Mei, Fai," I manage.

"Jia Li, don't go with them!" Mei chokes out, wrapping her bound hands around Fai so he doesn't run to me again. She's starting to cry, which scares me more than anything these men can do. Mei _never_ cries. She's the brave one, she's the one who protects me! Now, seeing her so vulnerable... It makes me want to cry, too.

"What choice do I have?" My voice is quieter than normal, trembling with fear. It crosses my mind that I should fight more, try harder to get away, stall until the police come, at the very least. I hear them now; it's a faint wail, but gradually getting louder.

The man yanks me out of the bathroom, and his Asian collegue shuts the door and puts a chair under then handle so, even in Mei tries to pound on the door, she'll be trapped. Until my mom comes home, at least.

How will Mom react to this? She'll walk in the door, and the broken glass on the floor will be the first thing she sees. The couch will be askew from when the man tried to pull me over it. She'll wander down the hall, and the rug will be upset because of our running, and whatever emotionally scarring memories from the counseling session with Dad will be gone from her mind. And then she'll see the door to Fai's room gone, completely splintered away, the broken fragments littered all over the floor, and she'll notice that neither I nor him are in there. Mei will have noticed her return by then, and she'll start making noise. Mom will let her out. Fai will cling to her leg until he is picked up, and Mei will explain what happened. Will she cry? Will she even care?

I'm only wearing socks over my feet, but the man doesn't stop to retrieve them before shoving me out the door and into the snow, even though they're sitting right there. Nothing to cover my arms but the short-sleeved shirt, I'm immediately cold and uncomfortable. I am led by my upper arm to a black van waiting in my driveway. Mei can see me from here. I know this because I can see her, pounding on the glass with her duct-taped hands, screaming her head off. None of the men acknowledge this except for the third man I didn't note. He's wearing a heavy coat and a knit hat, and he looks _way_ too happy for this situation.

I am suddenly overcome with a repulsion to the van, and I try to stop walking so I won't have to get in it, but the blond man keeps pulling me and the snow stings my feet and ankles but I don't worry about that because I'm too scared to think about anything but staying away from the vehicle. The Japanese man unlocks the back of the van, and the blond pushes me in. I come to my senses and lunge for the closing doors, but they're shut and locked by the time my palms come in contact with the glass.

_Where are the handles?!_ I think as I fumble my hands over the inside of the door. I can't stay in here. The men hop in the van; the blond driving, the unusually happy man in shotgun, and the Japanese man closest to me.

"What do you want with me?!" I demand, curling my hands into fists. They don't seem to understand me, but the Japanese man extends his arm out to me, something in his hand. It's my sketchbook, one charcoal pencil tucked into the spiral loop. I just look at him for a minute; I would much rather have my shoes and coat in this situation than my sketchbook.

"Who are you?" I ask, not even reaching for my book. "Where are we going?" The man doesn't answer. He doesn't give any signs that he understands. He comes closer, something in his other hand. It's a rag, or something. He must have it for a reason, and I scoot into the corner of the van, curling up into the smallest ball I can make myself.

The blond starts driving, fast and furious. I, without a seat belt, am tossed around the back of the van like a boat on the wave. After the first thirty seconds, I stop trying to right myself and just cover my head with my hands until he gains sufficient control of the vehicle. I end up practically nose-to-nose with the Japanese man.

Startled, I scramble back. The man reaches out and claps the rag over my mouth and nose, holding the back of my head so I can't jerk away. I'm forced to breath in the spirits on the cloth. I think he's trying to knock me out. It's too late for me to not pass out.

I crumple sideways, and the man removes his hands. I widen my eyes, trying desperately to keep them open, even though I don't have the strength to sit up.

The man, for some reason, starts touching my hair. Petting it. He's trying to make me feel better. I can't make him stop. My eyes close. I try to stay awake, but I can't.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My head throbs when I finally start to drift back into consciousness. Blearily, I open my eyes. I stare at the white ceiling for a few minutes before sitting up with a small groan. There's a girl in the corner with short blond hair. "Mei? Mei, what—?" I stop with a gasp and scramble back, because I realize all of a sudden that this girl is not my friend. Now that I focus on her, she's taller, wears glasses, and her clothing style is nothing like Mei's punk rock style. I realize I'm wearing a coat and a pair of shoes that are not mine; they're camouflage, and both are about two sizes too big. The boots are laced tightly around my ankles though, so if I need to run, I don't think they'll fall off.

"Who are you?!" I demand with a shaky voice, still sitting stiffly where I woke. A bed. "Where am I?! What do you want?!" The girl takes a step forward, and I scuttle back and fall off the side of the bed. I hear her exclaim something in a concerned tone, but her words are nonsense to me. She comes forward, like she's asking if I'm okay, but I stand up and take steps back until my back is against a wall. The girl stops and takes a step back, showing me her palms.

"Um," she says. That's all I understand, and it's not even a word. She also seems confused, and that's all I know about her. After taking a moment to think, maybe on how to convey her message without understand a word of my language, she walks over to a door, and she shakes the handle. It doesn't open. That's what she's trying to say; she's a hostage here, too. She doesn't understand anything better than I do.

The girl walks back over to me. Pointing at herself, she says, "Issa." Or something like that. Maybe it's a word in her language; I wouldn't know. But it sounds like she's trying to introduce herself. I nod and repeat her nervously, "Issa. You're Issa." She smiles and nods, and then she gives a little wave at me. "I'm—I'm Jia Li," I tell her.

"Jia Li?" she repeats. I nod and lift the corners of my mouth a little to reward her. I don't really feel like smiling. I feel like I'm going to cry. Or maybe I'll just throw up. Maybe both.

"Um," Issa says again. I look up at her and try to make it seem like I'm not about to burst into tears. She hesitantly steps forward, and she hands me my sketchbook, asking something in English. I'm not sure what she said, but I accept my book and quickly flip through the pages. None of them are damaged in any way, which relieves me. I don't know why it does, considering the circumstances, but it does.

I sit down on the bed and hug my sketchbook to my chest. My breathing is quick and short, and after a moment, I feel myself start crying. Embarrassed, I cover my face with my hand and lean forward, trying to breathe and comprehend just exactly what's happened to me. How's Fai? How's Mei? What are they doing right now? What about Mom? Dad? Why aren't they here with me? I need them. I don't know what to do. I don't know where I am. I'm scared to death, and I need to go home.

Issa gently puts her hand on my shoulder. I jump and look at her, and her expression is sympathetic. Now that I think about it, this girl's probably been through the same thing as I have. She's been here longer than me. Maybe she's been here for months, no company but the three men. And she seems perfectly fine. Yeah, she seems scared and confused, but she's a lot more relaxed.

Impulsively, I hug the taller girl. She doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she returns the embrace, rubbing circles into my back comfortingly. For a few minutes, I sob hysterically into Issa's shoulder. She's very supporting, stroking my hair and patting my back and talking soothingly to me in her language.

I finally stop and dry my eyes, pulling away. "Thank you," I murmur at her. Her face lights up and she repeats me enthusiastically. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she chirps triumphantly. That may be the only phrase in Chinese that she knows, and she's very proud of herself for that.

I give a small, breathy laugh and nod. She nods, too, and she says thank you again, and then, for the next few hours, the two of us just sit around in the fairly spacious room in which we're locked, not knowing what exactly to try to communicate about.


	5. Dimah and Harvey

Dimah's POV

_It's snowing,_ I note as I look out the window during class. _Again_, I add bitterly. I'm not fond of snow. It's cold, and it's wet, and there's too much of it for too long at a time. It dulls down the surroundings with a plain white hue. Everywhere, it's white and green, and sometimes black, if you come across a shoveled pavement. Then the snow around that is brown or black from the cars running past/ on it.

The bell rings, precisely at two-thirty. People rush around, stuff paper and writing utensils in backpacks, and shuffle out the door. The teacher reminds us to take the homework assignment from her desk on the way out. I grab the paper even though I don't plan on filling it out. It's got something to do with politics in America, if I'm not mistaken, a topic of which I am not fond. Besides, no one else cares about my grades, so why should I?

Being, as they say, freakishly tall for fifteen, I stand out amongst my peers. Silvery blond hair and violet eyes could also be a contibuting factor to the stares I get. And the fact that I live in the bad part of Perm. And the fact that I hardly ever talk. Or smile. Or show any expression other than boredom. And I have no friends. The list goes on and on, actually.

I meet my older sister, Vera, outside the doors. Somehow, she manages to get out of her last class of the day as soon as the bell rings, so she's always there when I make my way through the crowd of people. She chats with me on the way to pick up our little sister, Alina, about her boyfriend of three years and how he did something "amazingly adorable." I give a half-smile to her to be supportive, and immediately I hear the whispers from younger students amongst themselves, "Did you see that? Dimah Petrakis. He just smiled. No way, I don't believe you. No really, I saw it, just now. He has a cute smile, don't you think? Ew, Lara, he probably killed someone before." And so on and so forth.

We reach the elementary school where Alina attends. By then, we've lost the crowd of students, and I can show a little more emotion to my sisters while keeping my reputation intact. Alina says she had a good day; good, by her definition, meant she punched a boy in her class during recess and got away with it.

Vera grabs my arm suddenly, at a stoplight about five minutes from out house. "Don't turn around," she warns me. "There's someone following us in a van."

I pat her hand; she's been known to overreact. "I'm sure they're just doing their own thing. It's no big deal."

"No, but they were at the elementary school, but they didn't pick anyone up!" she whispers. I start to turn to try to catch the liscense plate, but Vera's grip tightens around my forearm. "Don't look at them!"

I explain to her calmly that I'm just going to get the plate number and take a look at the driver to see if I need to identify them later, and she reluctantly lets me, putting a cautious hand on Alina's shoulder. "...It doesn't have a liscense plate," I inform her.

"Okay, let's run," she decides. "We're almost home, and we can all run really fast, and—" I cut her off.

"Vera, it's fine," I tell her as we cross the street. "They're probably just tourists."

"Tourists?!" she echoes. "At _this_ part of town?"

"Well, look at them," I reason, tilting my head slightly towards the van stuck at a red light. "They don't look from here. And see, that man's getting a map. They're just lost tourists."

Vera isn't convinced, but this sort of conversation happens fairly often, and I'm right nine times out of ten. The one time I was wrong, Vera thought something bad had happened to Alina because she didn't show when school was out. It turned out she wandered off into the woods behind her school and had gotten lost. She turned up that night, enthusiastically proclaiing how she had befriended a wolf cub.

Alina looks up at me through her big blue eyes, and she grabs my other hand. I'm not too fond with anyone touching my arms for reasons I think I'll keep to myself, but if I didn't allow my sister to be clingy, they would get suspiscious. I pick her up easily; she's small for her age, and I'm big for mine, so it's not like it's hard.

Now we're walking down the long road to our house. It's not much of a house; it's creaky and drippy and small and dirty, but it's home. Our father's car isn't parked where it usually is. So, he's out somewhere. I don't know where. I don't care where. He's gone for random periods of time, each varying in length, and most of the time, he doesn't even tell us when he's going. He'll just leave and show up a few days later.

There's a crunch of tires in the snow behind us. I turn around, expecting Father's rusty pick up truck. Instead, I am greeted with the sleek black van Vera was sure was stalking us. Her hands squeeze my bicep again. "I told you!" she whispers in a half-triumphant, half-hysterical voice.

I'm not sure what to make of the foreigners. "You two go inside," I tell them. "I'll handle this." They follow my instructions, somewhat begrudgingly. I stick my hands in my pocket and watch as the van parks, and three men get out. One is a blond man wearing a heavy green coat and ear mufflers; next to him is a skinny Asian man with a blue coat that falls to his knees; the last is a man whose face I can barely see due to numerous scarfs, neckwarmers, etc. covering his body. "Hello," I call to them. "How can I help you?"

They don't respond. It occurs to me they might not speak Russian. I don't care, and I continue to talk. "You were following us. That means you want something. Am I right?" The blond man walks up to me. He's only a little bit taller than me, but we seem to be built the same way. He looks me over with rather surprisingly blue eyes, taking in how comfortable I seem in this weather wearing only my school uniform jacket, a pair of thin gloves, and a multicolored scarf.

In my pockets, I keep my hands clenched. They were following us. I don't know why. I don't know what they want. They could be dangerous. I bet I could take them. The biggest challenge seems to be the blond man. The other two look like easy pickings.

The blond man has a folder in his hands. He's looking at a picture, and then back to me, and then back to the picture, and then back to me. And then to the Asian man. And he says something in a language I don't recognize. And then he looks back to me. And then he tries to grab my arm.

I swiftly preform a defensive move that includes hitting the vulnerable inside of his elbow. He seems mildly impressed. "I don't think so," I tell him with a slight amused smile. "You can go now." But the fight has apparently just begun. I am slightly excited; this is my first real fight, a real chance to prove myself.

The man tries to put me in a headlock. Headlocks can be tricky, but they're easy enough to escape; you just have to know which pressure points to hit. For example: if you press the inside of the elbow hard enough, it loosens his grasp. Then you kick him in his man-parts. And, ta-da, you're free. As a fellow male, I do feel slightly bad for attacking him in such a manner, but this is a full-out brawl, and I'm not afraid to fight dirty.

I wait in a defensive stance while the man collects himself, now angry. He lashes out in a punch; I dodge. He kicks; I dodge. I punch; he doesn't dodge. It becoes a bit repetitve; he punches, punches punches, kicks, and by the time his leg comes back down, I sock him in the face, or in the neck, or I elbow jab to the solar plexus. You'd think a grown man trying to kidnap a seemingly defensless teenage boy would know haw to defend himself. Here's one thing, though, he can really take a beating.

I decide he's had enough, and I give him a shove in the direction of his collegues. "Go home," I tell him. "You're wasting your time." I stick my hands back in my pockets, walk backward a few steps, and then turn around to go inside. Someone's footsteps crunch in the snow, coming towards me quickly. I turn around, expecting the blond man, but it's the scrawny Asian man. "Come on, mister, I don't want to hurt you," I tell him.

Suddenly, he jumps up, presses a pressure point on my neck, and then elbows me hard in the ribs. He sweeps his leg into my knees so that I fall over. I'm slightly stunned and admiring his elegance and skill when he kneels next to me, moves my scarf without my permission, and jabs something at my neck. It's clear to me what it is when I start violently twitching: _Taser._

I try to scream as close to 100,000 volts of electricity run through my body. It hurts, and I can't stop twitching, and now my vision is blurry, and, wait, is someone touching me? An annoying sound rings in my ears. I almost don't hear my sisters screaming. Almost don't feel the men teaming up to drag me to their van. "That wasn't fair," I manage to croak as my consciousness wanes.

I keep my eyes wide open, fighting for consciousness and for breath. I'm barely able to make out Vera's form, screaming profanity at the men, weilding Father's rifle. I hear shots; she's shooting at them. As far as I can tell, she misses each time. She's never really been a good shot.

The blond man's blurry figure attacks her, putting something against her mouth after she runs out of ammo, and she falls limp. Alina is standing in the doorway screaming, and once the men leave Vera, she runs to her lifeless body. I pant for breath, trying to get up, get out of the back of the van. Someone ties my arms behind my back with rope and duct tape. Several large pieces of duct tape go over my mouth. I am officially royally screwed. Mr. Officially Royally Screwed finally loses consciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harvey's POV

Someone ruffles my hair. "'Morning, sleepyhead," chirps a familiar voice. "Are you planning on sleeping through class too?"

"Hey, Jaquline," I mumble, opening my eyes and putting on a tired smile for her. I raise my head from my desk and stretch, yawning simultaneously. "Sorry— I was up late for Blanc's essay."

"Don't stress— she always gives easy A's." Jaquline slips into the seat next to mine, gathering her long chocolate brown hair in one hand and tossing it over one shoulder. She's wearing a little more makeup than usual today— blush and eyeshadow, specifically, which she doesn't wear often. Her lips curve slightly upward as she looks at me. "You're staring at me again."

"No, I'm not," I object, facing the front. Then I look at her out of the corner of my eyes to tease her. She laughs. I adore her laugh.

"So, what are you doing after school today?"

The question takes me slightly aback, considering I probably have the biggest crush in existance on this girl. "I—uh—nothing. Why, a—are you doing anything?"

"Nope. Unless," she pauses, hesitating, and her tongue darts out to run over her shiny pink lips,"you want to, maybe, go to the movies or something?"

"Y—yeah!" I realize how quickly the answer left my mouth, and I clear my throat and try not to sound too eager. "Yeah. Sure. That sounds cool."

She smiles again, relieved. "Cool." She reached up and brushes her bangs out of her face. Her nails are painted red.

Class starts with Mrs. Raiche calling attention to herself and passing out a worksheet. It's a bunch of English words we have to translate. Jaquline nudges me after silence settles over the class, and when I look at her, she mimes shooting herself with a finger pistol. I try not to make a sound as I snicker. Then I get down to business, translating the foreign words into the familiar French.

After we're done, there's another lesson about weather. I remember a few words. I don't, however, remember a lot about it because I'm constantly worried about what Jaquline and I will do after school. I'm not getting my hopes up too high, though; I'm kind of at the bottom of the school's food chain. Jaquline, at the top, started socializing with me because she thought I was funny. (I was actually just being myself, which is very awkward, in all truth.)

The door opens five minutes until the bell. The lesson is already over, and Jaquline and I are talking. Well, she's doing most of the talking. I'm just listening. Anyway, newcomers always makes everyone in the class look up; I'd like to see a room full of teenagers not come to attention when the door opens randomly.

Three men stand there. The first is a really big and tall muscley guy with slicked back blond hair and really blue eyes. The next is a curious little fellow with red hair, a baggy blue sweatshirt, and half-lidded amber eyes. The last is an Asian man who I can only describe as _tiny_. He's wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, and his dark brown eyes are dull and emotionless.

The buff blond scans the room with his oddly-colored eyes. By now, everyone's lost interest in the men, as Jaquline has, and she pulls me back into conversation. "I mean, like, it's really weird, because sometimes I think that no one likes me, and you're so cool; I mean, everyone likes you! And—"

I stop her. "Wait—_what?_ You—_What?!_"

"What?"

"_You_ think no one likes _you?!"_ I exclaim, laughing a little in disbelief. "I thought no one liked _me!"_ The bell rings and we shuffle out with everyone else. All of a sudden, someone else touches my shoulder. I turn around, expecting a normal-sized person. I'm wrong. It's the really muscular blond man.

He says something in a language I don't understand. In the dumbest way possible, I ask, "What?"

He doesn't respond. I take a glance at his companions. The Asian man is still expressionless; the redhead has a goofy smile on his face. The blond is frowning from me to a picture in his hand, and then back to me. "What?" I ask again, backing away. Jaquline grabs my wrist. I flinch and look at her. She looks solemn. "What?" I ask her.

"I don't like them," she mumbles. "Come on...Let's get to class..."

I don't understand her reasoning, but I don't want to fight with her. So I say, "Okay, then," and start to follow her.

The blond man takes a fistful of my uniform and pulls me back the few paces I had advanced. "Hey!" I object, trying to get him off me.

He shakes me by that fistful of fabric, hard. Jaquline jumps in front of me protectively, and I hear her voice lower, growling, "Don't. You. Dare." I've never seen her like this, and she's been my friend for at least a year. It's a little bit scary. Anyway, the man pushes her away. I wince, because now he's in for it.

Jaquline walks back up to him and pokes him in the chest. "I don't know _who you think you are,_ mister, but you have messed with the _wrong girl."_ With every emphasized word, she jabs him with her finger. He's about a foot taller than her, but that doesn't seem to make any difference to her. She shoves his arm off my shoulder and pushes me back. "Harvey. Go to class."

"Well—uh— you come, too," I tell her. "You'll get yourself into trouble." After taking a few more steps back, I find the little Asian man in my way.

Mr. Tremont, the physical education teacher walks up. "Harvey. Jaquline," he greets us. Then he turns to the blond man. "Is there a—" He doesn't finish his sentence because the blond man punches him in the jaw. Knock him out cold.

"Run." Jaquline breathes at me. Her hand slides from my wrist to my hand. "_Run, _Harvey!" I take off sprinting, dodging the Asian man, pelting through the mass of panicking students. Suddenly, there's a loud noise, and an outbreak of screaming—gunshot. He has a gun.

"Don't stop!" Jaquline screeches at me, taking the lead. Her hand is sweaty, her hair disheveled. I hear the angry shouted gibberish of the blond man and a few calmer nonsense words in what I assume to be the Asian man's voice.

Jaquline suddenly grabs my mouth and drags me around a corner. I'm breathing heavily from adrenaline and running, and so is she, but we both stop gasping for air in fear. The hallway is silent; both students and teachers have run away. I don't even know where the men are. Chasing after the mob of escaped students, maybe.

I realize suddenly how close Jaquline is to me. We stand shoulder to shoulder against the wall, hardly daring to breathe even though we desperately need it. Her hand is in my hand, and her other one is clamped over my mouth, like I would've cried out when she pulled me to hide, and she forgot she was holding me.

"I think it's safe," she whispers after a few more minutes of agonizing silence. I nod. "Oh—sorry," as she realizes she's still keeping me quiet with her hand. I nod again in answer, unable to say anything. "Who are they? Do you know them? What were they trying to do with you?"

"I—I don't know!" I manage to squeak. "I really don't know! I've never seen them before in my life!"

"Okay, okay," she says, leading me down the hall. "Let's go to the police." We half-walk, half-run down the corridor, towards the back of the school rather than the front. "A—and if they chase us, we run. Right? Because even though they've got a gun, there's not a big chance that it'll hit us, and if it does, it's more likely to hit in a limb than a vital organ."

"Jaquline," I pant, "this isn't helping."

"Right. Sorry." We tear out of the building. We're clear for at least two blocks. Then a big black van pulls in front of us, going dangerously fast. "Other way!" Jaquline shrieks, shoving me in that direction. The Asian man jumps out from the side door and chases us. "Gaining," she chokes between shuddering gasps. "He's gaining!"

"Not helping!" I yelp again.

He catches up with us. Takes a running jump. Grabs both me and Jaquline around our waists. Lands on top of us. Jaquline elbows him in the face and screams. I flop around on the ground helplessly, terrified. Who is he?! What does he want with me?!

The blond man drives the van up and parks right by where Jaquline and I fight the Asian man. I've managed to flip on my back, and I stare at him as he goes over to Jaquline, and he slaps something over her mouth and nose. She screams again, muffled this time. I whip my head around, looking for a weapon I can grab. I can't find one, and by the time I snap to attention, Jaquline is limp.

I scramble back as the two men offer each other nonsense words of good work. "What did you do?!" I ask, my voice shaky. "Oh my _gosh_, what did you _do?!_"

I think addressing them might've been a bad idea: they look at me. Remember that their fault is with me. The blond pulls a gun out of the holster around his waist and points it at me. My hands go up. They drag me to my feet. All I can think is _gun gun gun gun gun gun gun oh my gosh I'm going to die_. Then I remember—_Jaquline_. She's lying unconscious on the sidewalk, long hair covering bits of her face.

A few pedestrians stand around, horrified. The blond jabs the gun at my neck and stares each one of them down; a _don't think I won't kill him_ gesture. They push me into the back of the van and lock the door. The blond gets into the driver's seat. The Asian man gets into the back seats. I'm in the very back of the van; no seats. I keep my palms pressed against the back window, searching the door for the handles— _gotta get out, gotta get away...!_

As the van hurtles down the street, I catch a last look at Jaquline. One of the bystanders kneels beside her, checks her pulse. But I'm looking at Jaquline. My friend. My almost girlfriend. We were going to go on a date tonight. I guess this spoils that.

Someone—the Asian man—grabs my wrists and forces them behind me, and he ties them behind me with rope. Then a long piece of duct tape goes over my mouth. I don't resist. I'm too afraid to resist. He moves back to the seats and buckles himself in. A good thing, too. We're being chased by the police. I guess someone at the school called them, and they're just now catching up. Anyway, the blond keeps driving faster and faster, recklessly, and I can't stop myself from rolling around in the unsecured back of the vehicle.

When he loses the cops, he slows down to the speed limit to blend in. I scoot into the corner, and I realize I'm not alone in the back of the van. There's another boy, around my age, and he's also tied up. They used a lot more rope and duct tape on him, though. He has silvery blond hair and a large nose. He's wearing a navy blue jacket and a brown, blue, red, green, and yellow striped scarf around his neck. He, unlike me, is unconscious.

I wonder what they did to him. Used whatever they used on Jaquline? I think it's called chloroform, or something...

All of a sudden, he starts stirring. Weakly, like he's confused, his eyes flutter open, and then immediately shut tighter as the morning light hits them. His irises are purple. Odd.

What's even odder is what happens to the van. A bright flash of light goes around us, and a falling sensation occurs. I flail around as much as I can with my arms secured behind my back. It stops as suddenly as it starts.

The boy sits up and stares at me, and I freeze: he's obviously bigger and stronger than I am, and I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to attack me in this situation. But he blinks slowly and slouches, rubbing his face against his shoulder.

I look out the window and flinch. The scenery changed. We were just in France. _Southern_ France. There's not a lot a snow there. But here—wherever the heck _here_ is—is _buried_ in snow, surrounded by evergreen trees. _What the heck?!_

The boy starts to struggle against his bonds. I hear several snapping sounds as the rope breaks, but he's not free yet. The blond snaps at him in his foreign language. He stops and glares at the man, who calmly gazes back through the rear-view mirror.

I stop looking and turn back around to the window. The road spirals up that hill to that big, secluded building. I can't help but wonder what it is, what will possibly wait for us there. I don't know how to react to this. What did I do wrong? I'm nothing special! They specifically wanted _me!_ It doesn't make any _sense_!

After a few more minutes of tense silence, we roll to a stop in the spacious driveway of the building. I inhale shakily as the three men get out and walk around to the back of the vehicle. The blond unlocks and opens the door and gestures for us to get out. I don't. I'm frozen with terror. But with an impatient jerking motion with his head, I scramble out into the cold. I am _drastically_ unprepared for this weather.

The boy hasn't gotten out yet. He's glaring at the blond man again. He seems like the leader. He's German, I think. Maybe Russian. One of those Northern European countries. That doesn't explain why his words sound vaguely Asian.

The man sighs and digs around in his pocket, and he brings out what looks to me like an ordinary black remote. I don't know what it is, so it has no effect on me. But the boy does. He stares at it in shock, then his expression morphs back into its furious expression, like he can't believe the man has the nerve to show him that object. Either way, he gets out of the van and stands next to me. I nervously shuffle away from him as far as I can without drawing attention to myself.

The German herds us into the building. Immediately, a number of soldiers stop everything to salute the men. The man salutes back, and they put their arms down, but stand still and alert as we pass. They go back to their businesses when we're out of earshot.

The boy next to me is seething like an angry hornet. I'm not surprised at the Asian man and the redhead with the single abnormal curl for going their seperate way. The German isn't afraid of him, though. He even gives him a shove when he thinks he's going to slow.

He stops us at a seemingly random blue door and unlocks it. It stands between a red door and a door with a scene of a park painted on it. He shoves us in. Slams the door in our faces. Locks it. The soft _click_ resounds in my ears like a death sentence.

The first thing the boy does is attack the door, screaming behind his gag in a garbled language I don't recognize. I stumble back to a safe distance and watch as the boy throws his shoulder against the wood again, and again, and again, and again, until he finally backs down and gives it a half-hearted kick and lowers his head, giving a soft sigh of resignation. He looks back at me, like he's asking silently what we should do, and then stops cold. I see the anger fill his eyes again though his expression remains neutral.

I don't know what I did, but I don't want him to attack me. I take a few more steps back and glance over my shoulder. There's someone there. He's also around our age, and he wears a green sweatshirt over jeans, blond hair disheveled, green eyes tired but alert. He stands still, frozen stiff into place. Then he lifts his hand up hastily and says, "_Hi."_

The boy attacks the stranger, shoving him down with his shoulder and planting a kick into his ribs. The newcomer cries out, holding up his hands in a surrender gesture. "_Stop, stop! I just want to help you! Ow!"_ The bigger looks at the smaller, his foot pinning him to the ground. I don't think he speaks English. But I do. I understand what he said, at least.

I step forward. The boy notices my movement and looks at me. I shake my head _no_. He gets my message and steps off the other, but not before giving him another hard stare. Like he's daring him to try something.

"_Th_—_thanks,_" he says to me as he stands, obviously shaken. I consider it brave when he approaches the boy and tries to peel the tape from his mouth. The larger flinches away at first, but then allows him to complete the task. Immediately, he barks something in a gutteral language I don't recognize nor understand. "_I'm sorry, dude, I don't speak Russian."_

The English-speaker goes for the Russian(?)'s hands, but he won't let him this time. "_Uh,"_ the blond says smartly. He turns to me. "_Here."_ I turn around and let him untangle the knots around my wrists, and, once they're free, I take the tape off my mouth myself.

"_Wh_—_who...are...you?"_ I manage. I think I asked him right. Used the right grammar, I mean.

"_My name's Josh,"_ he tells me as the Russian(?) boy allows him, begrudgingly, to untie him.

"_I am Harvey,"_ I respond. "_Where..."_ I forget the proper words to use, so I finish the thought with, "_is here?"_

"_I dunno,"_ he says, still trying to untie the other. He was tied very tightly, as it seems. I think I know why, now: he's very strong. "_I'm sorry, man." _Josh looks like he means it.

"_I_— _I am sorry for you, also,"_ I struggle. I look around the room. It's yellow and green and brown, and franky, very ugly.

Josh seems to find this amusing. As the last of the boy's ropes fall to the ground, he chuckles darkly. "_Yeah. Nothing I can do."_

The boy stalks off to the other side of the room, towards a fairly large window. There's no way to open it, I note from afar. "_You were... taken?"_ I ask Josh.

"_Yeah,"_ he sighs. "_Me and my friend, Issa. She's in the other room. If you talk in the vent, you can hear her."_ I can't translate some words, but I get the gist of what he's saying.

"_Who are...them?"_ I ask, giving a vague wave of my arm towards the closed door.

"_Dunno,_" he responds. I'm not sure what else to say after, but Josh starts a new conversation. "_So I'm guessing you don't speak much English, right?"_

_"Right,"_ I respond. "_I am... in class. I learn still." _

_"Awesome,"_ he says, which is nonsense to me, but I don't question it. I'm guessing it's some sort of slang word of approval. "_And...you're French?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Cool. I'm American,"_ he responds.

There's a voice from the vent in the corner. It's a feminine voice, also in English. She speaks too fast for me to try to translate. "_That's Issa,"_ Josh explains to me. Then he responds to whatever it is she said, and I'm to exasperated to translate. "_Everyone say hi to Issa." _

The other boy doesn't even glance in his direction. I give a half-hearted greeting to the girl I don't know and sit on one of the three beds, running my hands over my legs in agitation. Thigh to knee, knee to thigh, over and over. I can't stay still, but I do anyway. Josh and the girl whose name I already forgot talk in exasperated tones. The nameless boy sulks by the bay window.

I have to stay calm. I have to stay calm. I must. There are four video cameras in each corner of the room. Three beds. Three dressers. Two doors, and I'm guessing the one we didn't come in through is a bathroom. The carpet is pale green. The walls are puke yellow. The wallpaper border is dull brown. The bedspreads all match each other and the room. The curtains by the window match the wallpaper. The back of the door is brown. Like the wood it is originally. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Don't hyperventilate. Thigh to knee. Knee to thigh.

"_...Dude. Hey. Harvey."_ Josh has to call my name several times before I snap to attention. Even so, I respond in my natural language, shake my head, and repeat myself in English, "_What?"_

"_Quit freaking out."_ After translating, I furrow my eyebrows at the insensitivity. But he starts to elaborate. "_I know you're scared. I am too. I've got absolutely no idea what they want with me. But they're not going to hurt us."_ I'm about to interrupt, but he continues. "_Just look at how they're acting. Look at all the soldiers. These guys have power. If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead. If they wanted to hurt us, we'd be hurt. It's okay to be scared, but don't stress that much over it."_

I nod, surprisingly understanding most of it. And I understand his reasoning for saying it. I just need to take a deep breath or two and think about something else.

After a few more minutes, Josh asks me, "_Do you know his name?"_ pointing at the other boy, who hasn't moved from his seat on the dorm window. He lets off an angry vibe, even though he looks calm. I shake my head, and Josh nods and sighs. He goes over to where he sits. The boy acknowledges his presence by looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"_Uh, Privet,"_ Josh says, giving a small wave. **(Hello~Russian)**

The boy gives him the slightest but more of his attention."..._Privet. Vy govorite na russkom?"_ he says. **(Hello. Do you speak Russian?)**

Josh is obviously lost. "_Um, what?"_

The boy makes a clicking noise with his tongue, facing the window again with a bored expression. He leans his face against his fist, elbow on his knee.

"_Uh,"_ Josh protests, giving a hesitant poke to the boy's elbow. "_Yeah, hi. Uh,"_ he points at himself, "_Josh." _When the boy only stares, hand still cradling face, he repeats himself, and then points at the other.

He shifts to a different position, crossing his arms loosely. "_Dimah,"_ he responds, albeit reluctantly.

"_Dimah," _Josh repeats, giving a little smile of encouragement. When he gets a curt not, he nods, as well. "_Harvey, Issa, Jia Li,"_ he adds, pointing at me, and then the wall. Dimah nods again, seeming to understand. Then he turns back to the window, watching a few snowflakes fall lazily to the ground.

I wonder what time it is. I wonder what time the others think it is. As far as I know, they were in different time zones, thus meaning a different time for each person. Josh said he was taken with his friend, so they should have the same internal clock. As far as I know, we haven't changed time zones for me at all and it's still sometime around ten o'clock in the morning.

I would like very much to go home. I let myself fall back onto the neatly made bed, staring at the ceiling fan swirling around in calming circles. The girl and Josh talk back and forth for a long time. I know it's still morning, but I find myself drifting off, lulled into sleep by the circles drawn into the air by the hum of the fan.

It's not a deep sleep by any means. It's more of a power nap, really. But when I wake up, I have nothing better to do. I must look odd to the others, sitting up, looking around, falling back down. But I don't care. I'll care when something happens. But until that, I'll just watch the fan...


	6. Escape

Issa's POV

I sigh and lean against the wall. It's been about two hours since they dumped Jia Li here. I'm not sure what time it is for her, but I'd just be waking up. We've gotten kind of used to each other, but we're still a bit jumpy every time the other changes positions, or moves, or something. I can hear Josh trying to communicate with Harvey. The other guy, whose name I think is Dimah, or something like that, has been very quiet. It was kind of scary when Harvey and Dimah came in; Dimah wouldn't stop yelling and banging into stuff.

I sigh again, fiddling with my maple leaf pendant, and I stand up and sit on the dorm window. It stopped snowing a while ago, and everything is now coated in the fluffy white powder. I always love snow more when it's actually falling; I just don't think the sun reflecting off the surface is as beautiful as when you are practically in the cloud, your breath fogging around you, the snow tangling in your hair. It's so cold, but I've always kind of liked the cold. I like the way it turns your cheeks, nose, and hands red. I like bundling myself up in my heavy winter coat.

When will I be able to experience the wonders of snow on the other side of this glass?

I curl myself into a ball, resting my head on my knees. My bangs fall over my eyes, and I don't move them. I hear Jia Li stir behind me, and I turn to look at her. She is sitting up, rubbing her eyes; she panics for a second, then calms down. She must be so terrified. We make eye contact, and I wave to her. She smiles timidly and waves back. Her black hair really makes me nervous about how long it is; it's about twice as long as China's. I'm worried that they'll cut it, just like they did to mine. Maybe I can delay that...

I walk over to where she sits on the bed and start to try to tame her hair; it takes a few minutes, but I am able to smooth it out. Then, I hold it like I would put it in a ponytail, and I twist it, forming a bun on the back of her head. When I'm finished, I secure it with her ponytail. There. That should confuse them for a while.

Jia Li smiles and says "_Xie xie_." **(Thank you. Pronounced 'Shay- Shay')** Her side-swept bangs fall into her hazel eyes, and she shakes them out. On either sides of her face, two strands are loose; they are too short to be part of her real hair and too long to be a part of her bangs. Jia Li fiddles with them awkwardly. She's so adorable and lovable, just like a baby panda. How could they ever have the heart to want to hurt her? Japan, especially.

It must hurt him a lot to have to kidnap Jia Li, Josh, and me, because we look like China, England, and America, his allies and close friends. Italy, I bet, doesn't care. He probably just wants to make Germany happy. Germany... Who knows why he's doing this... He probably hates me the most, considering tensions between him and America in WWII. But still, he's just so cute and socially awkward on the show. Yes, he's a little strict, but that doesn't change the fact that he would never do this on the anime.

I guess you can't always believe what you watch on the internet.

Speak of the devil. The door creaks open, revealing only Germany. He seems impatient. Jia Li jumps closer to me, clinging to the sleeve of the bomber jacket. Germany points to her and makes the 'Come here' motion. Before she can do anything, I rise and take a defensive stance in front of her.

She is frozen with fear, but she seems like she doesn't want for me to get hurt, so she stands up. "No, just stay there," I whisper at her, pushing her gently down.

Germany glares at me and advances. I glare right back, standing my ground in front of the trembling girl. All I can think of is how badly I want to run away, or start crying, or anything. I hope he can't see me shaking.

He takes a knife out of his pocket and flips it open, his temper getting the best of him._ He can't hurt me, he can't hurt me_, I tell myself over and over. It's true. He abducted me because I look like America. If he cuts me, I won't look like him anymore, and that's not what he wants.

"_Ido_," he orders. I translate that in my head as "Move."

"_Yada_," I reply bluntly. **(Not happening.)**

We continue to glare at each other for a few more seconds. "Issa?" Josh asks. "Did I hear the door open?" I don't answer him.

"_Ido_," he says again. "_Ima_." **(Move. Now.)**

"_Hotto ite yo,"_ I tell him. **(Leave me alone)**

He tries to move around me, but I only block him, karate-chopping at the inside of his elbow. Of course it doesn't hurt him; I'm not nearly strong enough to do that. I wonder why he doesn't just push me out of the way. Oh, that's right; I'd just follow him. If he had brought Japan or one of his soldiers, they could have restrained me. But he can't hold me back and push Jia Li out by himself, not with the fight I think I'd make.

I don't see his arm move until I'm on the ground. My glasses flew off because of how fast my head turned. I raise a shaking hand to my stinging cheek and sit up. Jia Li freaks out in Chinese, kneeling next to me, trying to assess the damage done. She's ripped away from me by Germany; I can tell because she's gone as suddenly as she came, and I hear her scream. I let out a strangled protest in broken Japanese and push myself up, blindly chasing them across the room.

Germany has to do a double-take at me. He seems surprised, stunned. I think. I can't see anything without my glasses. Either way, he lets go of Jia Li, who runs to hide behind me. Slowly, he looks down and looks at the knife in his hand. I can't see it clearly, but the outline of the silver object is dripping with red liquid. I'm surprised, too; I look down towards the hand I had clamped over my cheek to find it stained with the same fluid.

He _cut_ me.

Germany folds up the knife and sticks it back in his pocket. Then he grabs my shoulder and pulls me closer, tilting my head sideways to examine the depth of the wound. I feel a few tears fall from my eyes because it hurts and I'm scared and my brain is too wired to think and I should've just let him take Jia Li and no, that's still bad, don't want that, you have to protect her.

"_I_—_itai,"_ I manage with my choked-up voice, shaking my head and backing away. **(Ow.)** Jia Li has a hold of the back of my jacket. I protect my cut with my palm and keep taking steps as Germany takes steps forward until Jia Li has to stop because she's against the wall. "S—stop! Don't c—come any closer!" I order, holding out my clean hand in a _stop_ gesture. He doesn't stop. I feel my voice become louder and shriller until I'm screaming at him to go away because I hate him and go jump off a cliff or something.

Germany is taking the time to remain calm and emotionless. I think he's pitying me. I wouldn't be surprised; I bet I look pretty pathetic right now: covered in blood, screaming and crying. He says my name several times, which surprises me so much I stop howling insults at him. So far in this experience, none of my captors has wanted to address me by my name. "_Isabella, ochitsuite kudasai," _he says calmly. "_Ore to kuru." _ **(Isabella, calm down, please. Come with me.)**

"_Yada!"_ I growl, glaring at where his eyes should be; I still can't see them. And I can't see where my glasses have gone while standing up; once I am so far away from an object the size of my glasses, I can't make out color very well. One of the joys of not having twenty-twenty vision. **(Not happening!)**

He puts his hands on my shoulder and starts steering me away. I punch him in the face, but he doesn't even flinch. Jia Li bravely jumps in between me and him and confronts him in a firm, albeit shaky voice. Then, we both reach for her at the same time; me to protect, him because he remembered he's supposed to bring her to get her hair cut. Germany has both of us by the napes of our necks, pulling us towards the door.

I plunge my hand into my pocket and come up with my pen. Uncapping it with my thumb, I hold it point down in my fist and bring it down hard on his wrist. Immediately, he yanks his arms back. I grab Jia Li's sleeve and pull her away from him so fast I almost knock her over. In the time it takes for me to do that, Germany examines his hand. It appears I have broken skin with my pen, because I see the red beads of his blood start down between his thumb and forefinger.

Without warning, he lashes out again and grabs the front of my shirt, and he slams my back against the wall. I struggle, but he takes both of my hands in one of his. I feel his blood on my wrists, feel his breath on my face as he shouts at me, feel my blood and tears rain down my face. It hurts, and I'm scared, and someone please stop him, and—

He jerks away from me, suddenly staring intently at the puncture wound in his wrist. Jia Li grabs my arm. I clutch at her just as she clutches me. Josh is beside himself, pounding his fists against the wall, shouting into the vent. "Issa, what the _heck_ is going on?! Are you okay?! What happened?!"

I shift around to stand over the vent and call back, "I—I'm okay, I'm fine, h—he just got me a little."

"Issa, is the door open?" I confirm that it is, and he continues, "Take Jia Li and get out, just _run_."

"No!" I protest. "What about you and the others?!"

It's too late to run now. Germany advances, his calm face back on. He takes a handkerchief and gently mops up blood from my face. I hiss at him and swat at his hand, and he backs off. He still looms over us, but his attention is on the handkercheif. He stares at it with fascination.

After a while, he snaps out of it and looks at me. "_Ore to kuru,"_ he says again. I shake my head and glare at him. He then starts to talk about something, and I catch the word _"tasukete,"_ meaning help. He wants to help me. I don't want him to help me. But before my protest leaves my mouth, he puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and makes me follow him. I don't know why I do. The possibility that my face will stop hurting, maybe.

Josh is still shouting as I am herded out the door. I don't respond to any of it; just take a long glance at the vent, and then as the red door closes, at the blue door. I think Germany notices, but he doesn't comment about it.

Jia Li, still shaking and clinging to my arm, hands me my glasses. "_Xie xie,"_ I mumble gratefully to her, putting them on my face. The world comes back into focus. Soldier's curious faces watch us as they pass. Germany walks behind us, and several glances back at him proves him to be looking intently at the bloody handkerchief like it's the most fascinating thing ever.

He stops us at an unlocked door and motions for us to go in. It's some sort of hospital room, with a couple cots spaced evenly around the room. There's a big cabinet on one side of the wall, probably full of medical equipment of sorts. He closes the door behind him, and the soft _click_ resonates around the silent room. He doesn't lock it or anything, but he's standing in front of it so we can't sneak out.

Germany opens a few of the cabinet doors, rummages for a few minutes, and then produces a syringe full of clear liquid, a spool of black medical thread, and a single sterile needle. And then he turns to me.

_Crap._

_"Suwaru," _he grunts at me, waving towards the cot. It wasn't a request. I shake my head, and I cover my cheek with my free hand; the other hangs on to Jia Li's wrist like a vice. He sighs at me and adds, "_Kudasai."_ **(Sit. Please.)**

I shake my head again, and he takes a handful of my jacket and makes me anyway. I struggle and try to stand again, but he reaches across me, pulls a restraint belt around my lap, and buckles it. It can only be unbuckled with a key. Which, I assume, is in the nation's pocket.

"_Ochitsuite,"_ he tells me. From the tone of his next sentence, I'm assuming he adds something along the lines of, "or else." **(Calm down.)**

He starts with the syringe. I grab his wrist and look into his eyes. "_Don't,"_ I plead. I'm shaking like a leaf, hyperventilating, and unable to stop crying. But all the same, I force myself to mantain eye contact.

He puts down the syringe on the other cot, grabs my wrist, and secures it to the sides of the bed. Then he goes around and does the same with my other. He tells me again to calm down, and he picks the syringe up again. I give a tug on my wrists and whimper, and Jia Li squeezes my hand comfortingly.

Germany cups my chin with his hand to keep my head steady, and then he pokes me with the needle, pressing down the pump, shooting whatever that clear liquid is into my cut. It _burns_, and I continue to thrash. I bite my lower lip hard, trying not to scream. Both of Jia Li;s hands tighten around mine, trying to keep me calm.

He threads the needle with the sterile string and sticks it into the cut. I guess the shot was supposed to numb it, because all I feel is a little pinch and a tugging sensation. It's not pleasant by any means, but I suppose it's better than actually feeling the pain of having a sewing needle go through my face.

After a while, I just give up struggling and let him fix me. I keep my eyes shut and try to breathe, and I manage to stop crying. I'm embarrassed because I cried and made a huge fuss. I just hate Germany, and I don't want anything to do with him.

He's done after about twenty minutes. Then he fishes the key from his pocket and unlocks me from the restraints. "_Domo arigato gozaimasu," _I mutter in his direction, sinking into a not-very-deep bow. A '_I'm grateful for you fixing my face even though you're the reason it got messed up in the first place'_ bow. **(Thank you very much.)**

"_Saa, sumimasen,"_ he responds, and if I'm not mistaken, he sounds sheepish. **(Well, I'm sorry.)** I don't know what else to say, so I just latch onto Jia Li again, who solemnly reaches up to wipe my face clean of both blood and tears. Even though it still hurts, I let her. It looks like she blames herself for this. I don't really see it that way, though; I could've moved any time I wanted, and I didn't.

I gently run my finger over the stitches. There are five little knots of the stiff thread; five stitches. Right on my left cheekbone. I'll have a hard time explaining this to my mom.

We follow the nation down the hallway, ending up in the room they cut my hair in. Japan and Italy are sitting against the wall chatting, but they stand up when we enter. At first, they're confused as to why I'm there. Then they come closer and see what happened.

Japan scolds Germany, who shrugs guiltily, no answer. Italy comes forward and freaks out because there's blood all over my hands and a little bit still on my face. I back away from him because he has no personal space bubble.

They calm down enough to remember they're here to cut Jia Li's hair. Protectively, I move in front of her. "_Yada, jagaimo-yaro,_" I snarl at Germany, the closest. **(Not happening, potato-jerk)**

He seems amused by that. "_'Jagaimo-yaro'_?" he repeats.

"Oh, shut up," I mumble. I used Romano's special nickname for him on an impulse. The only thing I could think of. There goes my secret weapon.

Japan seems jumpy and panicky now, his calm demeanor compromised. I imagine he's saying something along the lines of, "Well, don't children say the darndest things?" or whatever his equivalent of that is. He walks up to where I stand and tries to grab my upper arm, but I dodge out of his reach, taking Jia Li with me.

This certainly gets Germany's attention; even Italy seems to notice how out of character Japan gets. They confront him, and he composes himself, now pretending nothing happened. Germany is confused; he turns back to me and asks what I meant by "Potato-jerk." I shrug and nod at Japan, muttering, "_Hetalia desu."_ **(It's Hetalia.)**

"_Hetalia wa...?"_ he asks. Japan suddenly moves around him, like a threat. _Don't say anything, or else._ This is the most aggressive I've seen him, but I'm too angry to be scared. **(What's that?)**

"_Anime desu."_ Italy and Germany don't understand, and that seems to put Japan at ease. "I know who you are," I elaborate in English, not being able to translate. "I know _what_ you are. _Doitsu. Italia. Nihon."_ **(Germany, Italy, Japan.)**

This gets them. Their expressions are comical in shock; Germany's is appalled disbelief. Italy is dismayed, eyes widened, and he's looking at me like I grew two heads. Japan looks disappointed and embarrassed, slouching his shoulders and putting a hand over his face.

Germany sputters, and he yells something at me. Then he yells something at Japan. And then back at me. And then back at Japan. I get a feeling that I should be able to protect myself right about now. There's always the thin yet sharp hair-cutting scissors on the metal tray I conveniently placed between myself and the Axis. Looking at them and not for the weapon, I slowly reach out for them, curling my fist around the closed blades. I don't want to fight them. I know I'll lose.

Germany is still yelling at Japan, who is calmly trying to explain, and I hear him talking about anime. I look past them and it hits me suddenly—the door is wide open. No guards. Nobody watching us. We can leave. I stick the scissors in my back pocket for safekeeping and squeeze Jia Li's hand. Her breath catches, too, as she realizes what I realized. The three are now watching the first episode on one of their phones; I hear America's voice yelling obnoxiously, which is the start of episode one. We have a few minutes before they look up, or, at least, until they decide to check up on us.

Softly, we pad out of the room. The carpet is perfect to muffle our footsteps. I start pulling Jia Li faster, anticipating escape. Suddenly, a group of soldiers, obviously off-duty, walk past. I gasp and draw back behind a wall, pulling Jia Li with me. I forgot about them. Nervously, we wait for them to pass. I hold my finger over my lips at Jia Li as I tiptoe back out cautiously. A few more times, we have to take cover against soldiers as we get closer and closer to our destination.

How will we escape once we're out of the building? I have my instructional permit; I know how to drive, but for it to be legal, I need to have a liscened driver over twenty-one in the passenger seat. I should know; it took me two or three times before I passed the dang written test. Maybe I could steal one of those jeeps. But where would I get the keys? As we have to hide again, I remind myself to focus on the task at hand.

Finally, we get to the front door. I reach for the handle and stop—

Josh. I can't leave him here.

But I can't help him from the inside. I grab the handle and turn, and I run out. Only, I run head-on into a stranger.

We all go down, me on top of the stranger, Jia Li on top of me. I gasp and roll off him—it's obviously a man—and stand up. I yank Jia Li to her feet and start running down the stairs, but the man grabs my shirt collar.

Drawing in another shaky breath, I shove Jia Li down the stairs. "Go!" I call desperately. "Run!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" the person says as I wildly struggle against him. Recognizing the flat voice, I stop, looking up.

"England," I breathe.

England frowns at me. "America?! China?!"

"No! L—let me go!" I cry, thrashing again. Finally, I break his grip on me and dive down the stairs, pulling Jia Li along with me. I run, leading to who-knows-where. All I know is I have to get away, have to run, have to go home.

"Wait!" England calls, chasing after us. I ignore him and sprint. I guess I'm headed towards those woods over there. As soon as I pass through the bushes, I hear the angry shouting of Germany and I panic. England, not noticing the fact that I stopped, runs into me from behind.

"Oh, excu—mmf!" I slap a hand over his mouth and pull him behind a tree. Just in time, too; as soon as I do that, the Axis tears out of the building.

I don't watch. I just stare out farther into the woods, stiff with fear. England starts shifting, uncomfortable. "No," I whimper in his ear, "please don't move." He just nods, sensing my terror.

I can hear them all now. Not just Germany's howls. Japan's calming down Germany, and Italy is crying. For a few terrible seconds, I think I hear them coming closer. I hold my breath, trying not to hurt Jia Li or England because of how hard I'm holding them. I'm trembling without pause, and it's not from the cold.

Finally, their voices retreat. Cautiously, I peek around the edge of the tree. I think they're gone.

I pull my hand away from England. He immediately wipes at his mouth, where I left a crimson handprint. "Why on earth are your hands so bloody?!"

My hands do indeed have blood on them because of my new scar. "O—oh, I—I –"

"What happened to your face?! Goodness, are you all right?!" he interrupts.

I nod. "I—I'm fine. We— we're just gonna—... just gonna leave now. Bye." I start walking away. England grabs my shoulder, and I flinch away. "Please don't touch me," I say, trying desperately to keep my voice even.

"Good grief, what happened to you?" he asks, rather bluntly, in my opinion.

"You know them, don't you?" I venture cautiously.

"Yes, why else would I have been there?"

"How well?"

"E—excuse me?"

"How well did you know them?" I ask.

"They're—" he hesitates. "They're old friends. Why? Why were you there? Who are you?"

"My name is Issa, and this is Jia Li," I say shakily. "A—and you're England... Ar—aren't you?"

England looks surprised. Just like Germany and Japan's faces when they found out I knew. "Wha—" He clears his throat. "Who?"

"England," I press on. I don't know why I'm doing this; I should just run, run away and never look back.

"I—I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about. My name is Arthur Kirkland," he says.

"...knew it," I respond. Then, "I really have to go now."

"What's the rush?" he asks.

"Th—the Axis. They kidnapped us," I tell him.

England looks shocked and skeptical at the same time. "Th—them?!" I nod, trying to control my skyrocketing heart rate. "Why would they, of all people—"

"That's what I don't know. I can't understand them," I interrupt. "Look, they might come back."

"Then I'll just talk to them! I don't understand why—"

"Germany didn't like it when I got in his way, all right? Just go; this isn't your fight." I turn on my heel and start walking away with Jia Li, who looks scared and confused.

"Wait—" he touches my shoulder again, and my heart does another little tap-dance in fear.

"Don't touch me," I say again. "I don't expect you to understand, I hardly understand any of this, anyway. Please, just don't get involved."

"It's a bit too late for that," he says. "You stood in Ger—_'Germany_'s way, and he cut you. Who is '_Germany_'?"

I snap. "Look, England. _You _know who you are, _I_ know who you are. _You_ know who they are, _I _know who they are. Can you _please_ stop pretending you don't know anything about them?! Because I've been through a lot today and yesterday, and I'm not sure if I'm going _crazy,_ or what, because—" I stop, trying not to start crying again.

England puts his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Calm down. I'm trying to help you."

"You can't do anything, though," I protest.

"We'll see. Tell me what happened." He gives me a reassuring smile.

I take a deep breath. "I was in school, and they came and took me and another boy named Josh, and—chloroform, and I woke up and then—cut my hair, and—Jia Li, and Harley, and David—and then he got mad at me, a—and—" It was clear after the first five words that I wasn't making any sense. I had started hyperventilating again, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Whoa, whoa, hey now. It's okay now, you're okay," England says comfortingly.

I wildly shake my head. "N—no, it's not, th—they're not real, they're not freaking _real_, I've been kidnapped by freaking _anime characters_—!" I stop and furiously wipe at my eyes, and I hiss in pain when I touch my face. "_Ow!"_

"Hey now, calm down. Marissa, was it?" England says.

I take a few deep breaths before I respond. "N—no, just Issa, like Isabella."

"All right. And, your name?" he asks Jia Li.

"She doesn't speak English. O—only Chinese," I clarify. "Her name's Jia Li." Jia Li looks very uncomfortable after seeing me, the "braver" captive, the one trying hard to protect her despite not understanding a word of her language, crumble and break from talking to this new potential threat. It's just potential threat after potential threat; who can we trust?

"Oh, I have a friend— colleague— who speaks Chinese," England says. "Would you be willing to come with me?" He holds out his hand for a shake, and I just stare at it, my breath fogging up my glasses.

"I—I don't know," I say.

"My car's just around the corner," he offers.

I look down, thinking fast. It's freaking England. Only one of my favorite characters, in the flesh. I feel jumpy and excited, but also terrified and uncertain. The Axis wouldn't normally do that. England wouldn't, either. But what if he does? What if I go with him and he just goes psycho?! And then I would have dragged Jia Li into that, and I just can't handle being a leader; what if I get her hurt?!

"I don't know," I mumble again. "My trust in you countries is pretty low right now..."

"You have my word: no harm will come to you or Jia Li as long as I'm here," he promises.

"…O—...okay, then...," I say softly.

England smiles. "All right, then. If you'd just follow me..." And he starts walking away from the building, towards the long road heading down to that city way off in the distance.

"Wh—what's that?" I ask hesitantly. "Are we really in Germany?"

"Yes, we're in Germany; that over there is Berlin," he replies. "How did you know?"

"I asked them. I'm not very good at Japanese, but I know the basic stuff," I say, refusing to look up. My mind's racing right now; I'm trying to remember all England's weaknesses: he's not very strong, but no doubt stronger than me. What else...? Insults make him stop for a few seconds, but then he fights harder...

Where are weak points again? I know the insides of elbows are very tender; also, the inside of the upper arms, stomach, neck, back of his knees...

"...is Japanese cartoons, am I correct?"

"What?" I blurt, snapping back to reality.

"You said something about 'anime'. That's a Japanese cartoon, right?" he repeats.

I nod again. "It's about the countries. Mainly set in WWII, Axis and Allies stuff. By the way, if you ever meet another Hetalia fan, don't call yourself Arthur Kirkland. If they couldn't already tell, that just makes them more certain of your identity."

England hesitates. "...That sounds like a fascinating show."

"It's actually really stupid," I admit. "It's just so addicting because of the characters."

"And, uhm, which country did you say I was?"

"England," I tell him patiently.

"Hm. Is that because I'm British?"

"No. It's because you're England."

"...All right, then." He unlocks his car and opens the back door like the gentleman he is. I hesitate, glancing back towards the mansion. I don't want to go back there. I don't want to go with him.

I don't have a choice.

I get in the car.

England gets in the driver's seat after closing the door after Jia Li. I put my seatbelt on, and Jia Li nervously does the same. I let go of her hand finally, and hers is just as bloody as mine are. I can feel the drying blood on my neck, and it's all over my shirt and sleeves. It looks like I murdered a person and danced in their blood.

Within the first twenty minutes, England has made several attempts at conversation, but they've all awkwardly died out; I might as well be a brick wall for all I say. I am trying to be friendly to him; he did just save our lives. But I'm just so scared and confused, and my mind's still focusing on how to break England's nose if he gets too threatening.

"...So...," he starts once again. "You said a few names back there."

I nod. "Josh, H—Har—Harvey? I haven't really learned his name. Or the other guy's. It's something Russian. Dim- something."

"Dim- Something," England repeats.

I shrug helplessly. "I don't remember."

"What do they look like, do you know?"

"Josh looks like you, Harvey looks like France, and Dim—Dimah?—looks like Russia," I explain.

"You really like this anime," he muses, turning the steering wheel.

I lower my head and glare at him through the rear-view mirror. "I'm not crazy."

"I know," he responds, a little too quickly. I just exhale through my nose and look out the window. I didn't initally notice this before, but the steering wheel is on the right side of the car. I I don't mean that like it's the correct side; it's literally on the right. British. As far as I know, the Germans have it on the left.

I'm not sure what to say. I _know_ it's England. I _know_ it. He _has_ to be. I _can't_ be wrong on this. "Please," I whisper, looking pleadingly at him through the rear-view mirror. "You _are_ England. You have to be. I swear, I'm not crazy."

After a few minutes, he exclaims, "Fine! You win!" He sighs and rubs at his forehead. "I am indeed England."

I exhale a sigh of relief. "Thank you," I manage gratefully.

He looks ashamed with himself, but, ever the gentleman, he responds, "You're welcome."

"I—I think that's why the Axis wanted us in the first place; we look like the Allies, each of us."

"Hm...I did mistake you two for America and China when I saw you. It was an easy slip-up," he muses. "Um, you might want to hold on to something..."

"I—uh, okay?" I stutter. I grab Jia Li's hand. She's as confused as I am, but the reasoning behind it is clear once the van tips and disappears in a flash of light. Blindly, I grab my seatbelt with my other hand for some stability, but by then, it's over. We go over a pothole, and then it's over.

"...What was that...?" I ask slowly.

Jia Li jumps and points out the window suddenly, babbling excitedly in Chinese. I look over just in time to see a billboard with Chinese kanji on it; under the characters, it spells in English, "Welcome to Beijing."

"Beijing, I say blankly. "I thought—"

"Uh, yes, I just teleported us to China. I'm sorry; I should have warned you better," he says.

"Teleported," I repeat. "Can all the nations do that?"

"Yes, I think so," England replies absentmindedly, pulling the car into a long, secluded driveway. Jia Li's smile slips; she must have thought he was taking her home, or something.

England brings the car to a stop. With a reassuring look through the mirror, he gets out. Jia Li throws me a panicked glance, starting to hyperventilate again. I give her hand a squeeze and just look out the window instead of following England. He goes up to the door of the large, Oriental-looking mansion, and he knocks on the door.

England just stands there for a few minutes, occasionally glancing back at us. I can see the fog of his breath from here. Finally the door opens. I can't hear anything, but I finally get my first look at China.

Jia Li flinches when she sees him, widening her eyes and staring past me and out my window. Then she furrows her eyebrows, obviously confused. I look between her and him; they're almost identical.

After a few minutes of talking, England points back at us. China's eyes follow, and he smiles and waves at us. Hesitantly, I hold up my hand in a greeting. Jia Li just shifts back so she isn't visible where he stands.

They come back here. China gets in the shotgun seat, and England gets back in the driver's. Turning around, China talks in a calming tone to a petrified Jia Li. After a minute, she shyly shakes his hand when he holds it out.

Once that happens, England starts the car and starts driving.

Maybe twenty minutes after that, China seems to have gotten all he can get out of Jia Li, and the car is awkwardly silent. England clears his throat. "So, Issa," he says.

"Yeah?"

"What happened, exactly?" he asks.

I forgot I kinda flipped out when trying to explain things to him. "I was in class, just doing my work, y'know, and then they walked in. The German teacher was talking to Germany. I noticed they didn't have visitor passes, so I assume that's what he was trying to get them to do. But Germany just, like, threw him across the room. Everyone just started screaming. It was just…chaotic…." I take a deep breath and continue. "After Germany started shooting at the ceiling to get everyone to shut up, they singled out me and Josh."

"So you've met him before?" he asks.

"More or less. We've never talked to each other before yesterday."

"This happened yesterday?" He sounds surprised.

"Yeah. " I run my fingers through my hair, and then smooth the strands back behind my ear. "They made us leave. I—I was kind of panicking. A lot. So they tied me up." I hold up my hands, showing him my raw wrists. "Someone had called the police. There were at least three cop cars when we got outside. So, around six officers. I think there was a news crew, too. They planted a bomb or something beforehand, and they detonated it to make enough time to escape. I—I'm not sure how badly the officers were hurt. Once they got us in their van, Japan chloroformed me."

England nods. His eyes in the mirror, looking out at the road, look cold and sad. Japan was his friend.

"I woke up later and they cut my hair," I say. "Then they locked me in a different room. Not much else happened, except for them bringing in Jia Li. I could hear Josh in the room next to mine; that's how I heard the other lookalike's names. "

"All right," he says, to make it clear to me he's listening.

"And then this morning….," I trail off and clear my throat. "I think they wanted to cut Jia Li's hair, too, b—but I just kept standing in Germany's way. It really made him mad. He just—just blew up and cut me. I was probably asking for it…." I gently trace the outline of the scar with my finger. "Anyway, he seemed to regret it, and he gave me stitches."

"How did you get away?"

"They left the door open," I say with a slight shrug.

England laughs. "Left the door open," he repeats. "That was easy."

I give a half smile and nod. "Uh-huh. And then we ran into you."

"Quite literally," he says. "So you provoked Germany just to distract him from Jia Li?"

"I guess so," I shrug.

"Well, that was very brave," he says.

"It wasn't, really, I just stood in his way and shouted at him with the three Japanese words I know," I protest. "_…_And I stabbed him with a pen."

"…You _stabbed_—"

"Not very hard!" I interrupt. "And with a pen, like those cheap ballpoint ones; it didn't do much damage and I was shaking really badly."

"Did he bleed?"

"W—well, yeah, but it was like getting pricked with a needle!"

"Love, I am quite familiar in the art of needlework; it _hurts_ to get pricked with a needle," he says, catching my eye in the mirror.

"Look, there was nothing really special about it," I object.

He chuckles a little. "That sounds like the opposite of what America would say."

"Yeah, I know," I reply, brushing the hair out of my face. It keeps falling in my eyes. My hair normally does this, but I always try to stop it when I'm talking to people.

"Okay, here's a fair warning: I'm going to teleport now," he says.

"Okay," I respond, grabbing on to my seat belt.

The same thing happens, and it's not any less nauseating the second time. This time, when I open my eyes, I recognize where we are.

"D.C.!" I exclaim. "I live here. Well, way over there." I point out the window towards the hills in the east, where my house lies.

England nods. "Your parents must be so worried."

_Yeah. Parent._ My dad died when I was young, but that's not a fact I like to advertise, so I remain silent. I hate it when people find out, and then they give me the soft-eyed look of pity. I _hate_ pity.

"America lives just over there," he says, pointing over to the left.

I nod again, and China says something to Jia Li. The only other sound for a while is the sound of their chatting. Then, England pulls into the driveway of another mansion. This time, I get out, and so does China and Jia Li.

England knocks on the door. America literally runs to answer it; I can hear his loud, stomping footsteps behind the door, sprinting. He uses the door to stop his run, seeing as there's a slam from the opposite side. A lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing the wheat blond wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and his signature bomber jacket. "Hey, Iggy, whassup?"

England twitches at the nickname. Oblivious to this, he looks past him—completely missing the fact that there's two China's—and right at me.

"Oh, hey, Mattie," he says happily to me. "What are you doing here?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prussia's POV

"…_Look_," West fumes at Japan, "they couldn't have gotten far; just assemble a search team. Meanwhile, I'll go see if England's lookalike knows anything."

"But Germany-san," Japan interjects, "You can't understand him."

"I don't care," he responds.

Japan just shrugs and dials a number into his cell phone. Then he walks away, saying, "Yes, this is Japan speaking. I need you to…."

"Ve~ It's really cold out there, Germany!" Italy chirps. "I hope they're okay!"

"They won't be when we find them…," he mutters. Suddenly, he opens the closet door from where I hide. "Stop spying on me."

"I am not spying on you! How un-awesome!" I protest, feigning hurt. "If the Awesome Me wanted some answers, the Un-Awesome Everyone Else just has to tell me!" I walk out of the closet and down the hall. "Anyway, I heard all that I need to know, so, later."

West growls at me. "Just don't cause any _trouble_."

"_Ja, ja, _whatever."

"Don't disturb me," he adds, fiddling with a bloodstained handkercheif. "I have a few tests to run."

"On that."

"Yes. On this." And, almost as if he's in some sort of daze, he lumbers down the hall, still clutching the handkercheif like it's worth a million euros.

I shrug and walk down the hall, making a beeline for that Issa girl's room. Once there, I see why they're freaking out. They're gone, both her and that Chinese girl I haven't met.

Honestly, I'm really happy for them; West and the others aren't thinking straight. But I didn't want to do anything about it.

Gilbird flies off my head, chirping his fuzzy little head off. He lands on the floor by the window, picks up something with his beak, and flies back over, dropping the thing into my hand. It's a necklace on a black chain with a brown leaf on it.

Now, I'm not one of those hippie-tree-hugger-people, but I do recognize this particular leaf. It's a maple leaf.

Wasn't Issa wearing this earlier…?

All of a sudden, it clicks. Why I know maple leaves and not any others, and why America's supposed lookalike would wear one. She's not _America's_ lookalike.

She's _Canada's._

**DUNDUNDUNNN**


	7. Winter Formal

Issa's POV

"Oh, hey, Mattie. What are you doing here?"

I frown and lower my gaze to the side while England starts talking. "America, no. This isn't Canada."

"Whaddya mean?" America asks, coming towards me and throwing an arm around my neck. "I think I know my own twin when I see him!"

While I squirm, uselessly trying to fend off the embrace, England says, "Really," in a sarcastic voice. "Take a closer look."

America looks down at me. After a few seconds, he lets go of me and exclaims, "Whoa, hey! What's wrong with your face?! And you're a chick!" Suddenly, he turns on England. "What'd you do this time?!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Yes you did,! Remember that one time you used your magic-whatever and turned everyone into chicks for a week?!"

I slowly gravitate towards China and Jia Li. I think I'll take my chances with China's death-glomp over America's...It's then when America's eyes follow where I'm headed, and _then_ he notices Jia Li. "And you made a chick version of China, too!?" he exclaims rushing towards Jia Li and poking her face. "She looks just like him! Is she a robot?"

Jia Li jumps behind China and sidles over to me, clinging to my sleeve again. China starts scolding America in Japanese. I guess he's explaining, because when he's done, America looks back towards us.

"Germany did _that_ to you?!" he asks, gesturing at my face. I nod, and then he's hugging the crap out of both of us. "Dude-ette, I am _so_ sorry I wasn't there to be your hero!"

"You're squishing them!" England protests, tugging at the back of America's jacket, which, I noticed, is just like mine, only used more. And not bloodstained.

"Oh. Sorry."

"S'okay," I mumble.

"Dude, it's no wonder I thought you were like Cana- my brother! You're quiet, just like him!"

"Um, America." England waves America closer and whispers, "She already knows about the nations."

"What?!" America takes another look at me, like my knowledge is something tangible. "Nuh-uh."

"Yes. Apparently, Japan has made us into a cartoon."

"No way! That's so awesome!"

"No, it is _not_ awesome!" England hisses. "He's risked our exposure!"

"Oh, well, she knows, and she seems pretty chill about it," America counters, glancing again at me. "But if she needs memory removal, I'll go get my baseball bat." At England's pointed glare, he laughs and goes, "I'm only kidding! A hero would never hurt his citizens!"

He ambles back over to me and sticks his hand out for me to shake. "Hi there! I think you already know this, but I'm America!"

I nod. "My name's Issa, and this is Jia Li."

He leans in close to my face and just stares at me for a minute. Unsure of what he's doing, I look back helplessly at England. But America explains before England can step in. "You look a _lot_ like Mattie," he tells me.

"O-oh," is all I can say.

"Where is Mattie?" he asks, seemingly to himself.

I shrug in answer to his question.

"I'mma call him," he decides, wandering back into his house without another word of explanation.

"You idiot!" England calls after him. "You don't just bloody leave us out here!"

"Oh, right!" he calls back. "You guys can come in if you want!"

England pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs impatiently, and then he repeats what was said in Japanese for China. He then translates it into Chinese for Jia Li. Everyone is inside before me, so I'm the only one to spot them.

In the reflection of the glass, I see two figures running. The one in front, who seems to be being chased, is wearing what seems to be a light blue button-up shirt, and the chaser is wearing a red shirt with yellow flowers.

As I watch, the chased trips and falls, and the chaser jumps on him and starts wildly throwing punches at his face. I whip back to look at England, or China, or one of the adults, but they're already inside. But I can't stand here and do nothing; he's being beaten to a pulp! So, I take off towards the duo.

"Leave him alone!" I shout, grabbing Cuba's shoulders and pulling him away from Canada.

Cuba glances in my direction and yells, "Get away, girl."

"No!" I counter, tugging on the back of his shirt. "This isn't America, can't you see?!"

Cuba flings back his arm, trying to shake me off. "Get away! I'm teaching this cheapskate a lesson!" he snarls.

"He. Is. Not. America!" I shout, trying to wedge myself in between his fists and a whimpering Canada.

Finally, Cuba growls at me and backs away, muttering to himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling next to a bleeding and bruised Canada.

"Y-yeah...y-you can s-see me?" he stutters, squinting up at me through vivid purple eyes.

"'Course I can," I tell him kindly. "Come on, sit up. Let's see how badly he hurt you." I slowly help Canada into a sitting position. He's bruised a few places, and his foot is definitely broken.

Across the street, America's door bursts open. "Issa!" England yells. "Where are you?!"

"Over here!" I call, waving an arm in the air. "Canada's hurt!" I wrap one of his arms around my shoulders without waiting for his consent, and slowly drag him to his feet.

...Foot.

And then I help his cross the street. About halfway across, England catches up and starts helping Canada limp along from the other side. Then America comes and flat-out picks Canada up bridal-style, carrying him inside.

My country is such a show-off.

Anyway, then China bandages his foot after America drops him on the couch. And Jia Li stuffs a few pillows under it to keep it elevated. Canada looks like he's about to cry.

"Y-you guys..." he manages.

"No problem-o, Mattie~!" America chirps, putting an ice bag on Canada's injury.

I note every time someone says something grammatically incorrect, England shudders.

I'm probably more amused by that than I should be.

As I look around this room, I see little American touches everywhere. And I mean _everywhere_. It's like we're wrapped in a giant American flag. And I'm not exaggerating. The walls are painted as American flags, the tables are red and white striped, the chairs are blue with stars, so on and so forth. I notice England and China looking around with contempt. China asks something to America, who responds indignantly; he's probably insulting his decor.

Don't get me wrong. I love my country, and I'm proud to be an American, but this is just overboard.

While China, America and England are bickering in Japanese, I notice Tony the alien walk in, texting on his phone. He looks up long enough to swear at England, and then he crosses the room and exits through another door.

Huh. That was weird.

Anyway, England just finally yells something at America, and he goes, "Oh, yeah!" and starts talking rapid-fire Japanese to Canada.

After a few minutes of that, Canada looks up at me. "But why would the Axis do that?"

"I have no clue," I answer.

"That's just so unlike them...!"

"I know."

"And...Your face..." Canada reaches up and gently runs a finger over my cheek, like doing that would magically heal the wound. But it doesn't. My face stays as scarred as ever.

"I'm okay," I tell him hastily, pushing his hand away and cupping my cheek in my palm, hiding it from the prying eyes of everyone in the room.

I hate the scar. I hate it.

But if I didn't stand in his way, we would still be there, and Jia Li would be emotionally scarred from the hair cut they were about to enforce.

I suddenly am ashamed with myself; getting the cut means I may have saved Jia Li's life, and I'm wishing I just let him take her to spare my face? It's so shallow. I should be proud of it. It means I was brave enough to go against the flow.

...Right...?

I reach up with my other hand to grasp my pendant, but it's not there. I fumble around my neck for a minute before concluding that it really is gone. "Aw," I mumble, more to myself than anyone else.

Suddenly, there's a tapping at the window. "What is Prussia's stupid bird doing here?" England asks to himself, striding over to open the glass. Once the window is open, Gilbird flies in and lands on my head.

"Well, hello to you too..." I mutter, scooping up the canary. He peeps, and my necklace falls out of his beak. He chirps again, nuzzles my thumb, and flies out the window again.

"...Well that was odd," England sums up. "What is that?"

"My necklace..." I respond, examining it for a few seconds before holding it out to the Brit. "I must've lost it...It falls off so easily..."

England observes it closely, and then uses something he drew from his pocket to scan the pendant and chain. "Making sure they didn't do anything to it," he mutters to me in explanation. After a few minutes he dubs it clean and passes it back to me.

"Oh, here! Lemme put it on you!" America sings coming closer.

"Ah- no thanks; I got it," I say quickly, taking a defensive step back. I run into the couch where Canada lies, and I jump forward, right into China. "Sorry, _gomenesai."_

"You really don't need to be so polite to him," England whispers to me, his green eyes sparkling with jovial humor.

I didn't know England had a sense of humor. Huh.

I shrug in answer to his statement and back over to Jia Li, who is looking just as uncomfortable as I feel. America is staring at me again, and I shift awkwardly under his gaze.

"You don't look like me at _all_," he tells me.

"No, I think she does," England counters.

"No no no, look-" America puts his arm around me again and points as his face and then mine. "Look."

England looks closely between us. "You're still very similar..."

"But look between her and Mattie!" America says, guiding me over to Canada's couch.

"Hm..." England goes as he examines us. "Yeah, I see what you mean..."

"I think the Axis was trying to be very exact," I supply. "You look a lot like Josh. And Jia Li looks a lot like China. I didn't see the other two directly, but I'm sure they must be the same way with their countries."

"...And I get mistaken for America all the time..." Canada shares.

"Does that mean..." I pause and frown. "...I was mistaken for America's real lookalike?"

"Well, lemme just input some stuff in my files on my phone..." America says to himself as he takes said object out and begins tapping away on the keys.

England is frowning. "You keep the records of your citizens in your mobile?"

"It's called a cell phone. 'Cellular telephone.' Get with the times, Grandpa."

England flushes red and starts sputtering nonsense. Before he can respond, America goes, "Got 'im!"

"Well? What's his name? Where is he?" from England. Canada is just watching, and China and Jia Li are having their own conversation in Chinese.

"...Name's Zack Richards. He's in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure he's not kidnapped; he has a grade put in for a test that he took this morning," America reports.

"Let me see," England says. Once the phone is in his hand, he holds it up between America, Canada, and me. "Yes, I see now. He looks more like you."

"Well, what're we waiting for?" America asks. "Let's go be friggin' heroes and save him from evil Germans!"

A violent tremor runs through England's body as the words leave the American's mouth, but he mutters, "I'm not even going to bother..."

America starts talking to China. "They're not coming," he reports. "You're coming, though," he adds to me. "You can only understand us, and we still need to keep an eye on 'ya."

"Fair enough," I say, shrugging noncommittally.

"Um...Can I come?" from Canada.

"Yeah, Mattie~!" America says at once. "Wouldn't be a party without you!" He looks around at us for a few seconds, probably wondering why we aren't moving, and he adds, "Let's go!"

Canada sits up and moves his legs off the couch. Then he just stops and stares at the ground and his foot.

"Here," I mumble, kneeling next to him and helping him up.

"Thanks," he says in my ear.

"No problem."

I'm almost out the door when Jia Li hugs me from behind. "O-oh," I say quietly in surprise. Canada holds the doorframe for support and takes his arm away, giving me space to turn and hug her back. When she lets go first and backs away towards China with a reassuring smile on her face, I know she'll be alright without me.

But will I without her?

I cast the thought from my mind with a grin back at my friend. Then I help Canada back out to America's truck and hope he can't feel me tremble.

America's truck is spacious; it's not as big as a van, but not small. It's silver on the outside, and the insides are comfortable. America drives, England claims shotgun, which leaves me and Canada in the middle seats; the very back seats are left empty.

England scowls at the numerous burger wrappers on the dashboard.

America only takes another one from his pocket (is that where he hides all of them? How big are his pockets?) and chows down. He clicks on the radio, and a familiar song starts playing over the speakers.

"_I'm scared to be touched; I don't like the feel. It's way too close, and way too real. 'Cause inside it's raining, it never lets up. I know I'm crazy, crazy in love to know that I, I'll find a way to make this all go away...I'm scared to be me 'cause I look like you. I don't wanna be somebody I never knew. I'm scared to go out; I'm so far in. I hear it's nice, but I've never been. 'Cause inside it's raining, it never lets up..." _**(Raining by Art of Dying. (Feat. Adam Gontier) I don't own it)**

I think this fits my situation rather well.

Anyway, that's all I hear before England clicks it off. America pouts and turns it back on.

Aaaand then there's a radio war. I think America's winning.

"They're a real handful, aren't they?" Canada asks quietly.

I nod. "They fight...a lot."

"Welcome to my world."

"Ah, _your_ world. The land of maple and hockey, of snow and polar bears, of watered-down French and Nutella," I say teasingly. **(Guess who doesn't own Nutella? ME)**

Canada smiles at the joke, and he doesn't deny any of it. But he reaches for a satchel I didn't see earlier and withdraws Mr. Kumajirou himself.

"Oh my gosh. I'm gonna die. He's _adorable_," I gush, petting the bear.

"I keep forgetting his name," Canada says sheepishly.

"I'm Kumajirou," Kumajirou says. "Who are _you_?"

I say my name right as Canada reminds the bear for the umpteenth time.

"Right," Kumajirou says. "I remember you; you feed me. But you smell different," he tells me.

"I am different," I tell him.

"That explains it," Kuma says, crawling on to my lap and curling into a little ball of white fluff.

I nearly pass out from cute-overload.

After that, I'm staring out the window. I notice the hills by my house, and I press my forehead against the window, like instead of teleporting to Pennsylvania, I could teleport back to my home. I'm noticing other things now; like, when we stopped at a red light, I notice a missing poster with my face on it; about a mile later, I see one with Josh on it.

My mom must really be freaking out. Maybe Renae even helped make the posters and set them around town. Did Josh's mom make her own, or ask my family to make one for him? Did either of our families even do them, or did friends from church help?

My thoughts are interrupted by the teleporting. It's the same as before: the light engulfs the car, and everything drops. Then the world literally spins into focus, and _ta-da_, we're in Pennsylvania.

It doesn't look too different from D.C., actually. Snow still covers everything in a white blanket.

I realize the two in front had stopped bickering when America speaks into the silence. "I didn't wanna say this earlier because Iggy would run away like the wimp he is-"

"Don't make me hurt you," England warns.

"I'm driving! Anyway, tonight's Zack's school's winter formal. And we're gonna have to crash it. So we're making a pit stop for party clothes."

"...I'm not going in," England declares, stubbornly crossing his arms to show his point.

"Yes you are."

"No. I don't think so."

"Iggy, we-"

"_England_," he corrects.

"_England_," America mimics, "we need you. Canada can't be my backup when we find my citizen. No offense, brah."

"None taken."

England seems to mull over his options, and apparently he doesn't see a way out of this, so he sighs and grumbles, "_Fine_."

"Yay~! Woo-hoo!" America cheers, pulling England into a one-armed hug, which he manages to fend off.

"You're _driving_," he reminds him. "And that's the _only_ reason I'm not punching you in the face."

"Whatever you say, Iggy," America replies, sounding amused by the threat.

We pull up to a mall and get out. I help Canada up.

"Oh, hey, bro. I got some crutches over here," America calls, holding up the said objects; he must've pulled them out of the trunk.

I start wondering why he didn't offer those sooner, but Canada, sounding used to this, thanks him and takes the crutches.

So, we go to inside, wiping snow off our shoes. The interior still has Christmas decorations up. America chooses the store.

It's big for just a shop in the mall. There are mirrors all over the walls, and a large clump of dressing rooms in the middle of the whole thing. And circling those are racks of formal outfits; dresses on one side, tuxedos on the other.

I follow England around because he seems the most level-headed. Canada is too, but he's slow and wobbly on his crutches. "You can go pick out a dress, love," he tells me kindly. I translate that into _stop breathing down my neck._

"Okay," I say, wandering over to that direction.

I start browsing the dresses, turning my nose up at nearly every one; I hate dresses. I don't like glitter, or feathers, or sequins, or plunging necklines, or the vulnerable feeling that comes whenever my legs aren't wrapped in a sturdy pair of pants. I'll probably just end up waiting in the car with Canada and Mr. Kumajirou. Or going in in my jeans and bomber jacket.

I'd like staying in the car a _lot_ better.

"Do you need help with anything?" asks the attendant-lady of the store.

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks," I tell her.

"If you need anything, just let me know," she says, smiling even though the look in her eyes say _you are not worthy to even walk on this floor._

"Okay. Thanks."

I frown at a few more dresses before another voice calls out to me. "I think you'd look good in this one," a girl tells me. She has her long hair in a ponytail and a headband, and she's wearing modest sweat clothes. She offers me a white dress with gold decals all over it.

I scrutinize the dress for a minute before replacing it on the rack. "I don't think so..."

The girl takes another look at me. "Yeah, you're right. How about...this one?" A strapless black dress that falls to my knees with a purple ribbon across the middle.

"...No..."

"Hm..." says the girl. "I can usually find the perfect dress for my friends, so I think I'll find you one. My name's Josie."

"I'm Issa," I tell her, shaking her hand.

"Hm...Lemme see...Yeah, you're an autumn," she tells me. "Your hair is kind of reddish, and your eyes are like, changing from blue to light green."

"Autumn," I parrot.

"Your color scheme," she tells me. "Basically, you look good in fall-y colors, or anything that has gold undertones. I'm a winter, because my hair is darker, and so're my eyes. Still blonde and blue, but a darker shade. So, anything with blue or gray undertones look good on me," she explains. She adds as an afterthought, "My brother is the same as me."

"What's his name?" I ask, curious.

"Zack," she tells me offhandedly, still rifling through the array of dresses.

"Zack...Richards?"

"Yeppers," she says, pulling out another dress. She holds it up in front of me, and she looks excited. "I think this one's it. Go try it on!"

I stutter uselessly as she pushes me towards the dressing room. "I-I...uhh. My- ...uncles...?" But she gets me in the door and closes the door on me. I have a pang of terror from the memory of Germany doing the same thing, but I force it down as I put on the dress.

...It's _strapless_.

The dress itself is red and floor length, which is good, because I'll probably end up wearing my Converse. **(Do not own)** It's got a dark green ribbon around the waist, and I tie it in a bow on my back.

...But...it's..._strapless_...

"You done in there? I wanna see if I guessed right!" Josie calls, knocking on the door.

"It- it's _strapless_!" I call back, tugging the front up from its sliding position.

"Yeah! Lemme see!"

I sigh and open the door. Josie looks me over and squeals. "I _love _it!"

"It's _strapless!_" I say again, self-consciously pulling the front up even though it was fine before.

"It's _adorable_," she says, circling me.

"_Polar bears_ are adorable," I counter, nervously entwining and unentwining my fingers.

"You should get it. Are you going to the dance tonight?"

"Yeah..."

"Ooh, good. You gotta meet my friends. I've got a friend who's just like you; she's so cute and shy and meek!"

I just stand there, blushing and uncomfortable. England walks up with a black tuxedo on his arm wrapped in plastic and nods approvingly. "H-hi there, un-_uncle_ Arthur," I say. "D-do you like it...?"

"Yes!" England says. I nervously pull the front up again.

"Uh, uncle Arthur, meet Josie Richards," I say, pointing at her. She waves.

"Apparently, you know my twin," she says.

"_Oh_. No, my- erm, _brother_, Alfred, knows him," England says.

Josie laughs. "I like your accent," she says.

England flushes red.

America literally runs up, completely missing the pointed glare the attendant-lady's giving him. "Whoa, hey! That looks awesome one you!" he tells me.

"Th-thanks," I manage.

"This is Zack's sister," England says carefully. "We were just talking about him, weren't we, Issa?"

I nod, hoping he won't blow this.

Due to Canada's appearance, he doesn't. "Can we leave now?" he asks timidly, like asking would make someone attack him.

"Sure," England says.

I back into the dressing room without another word and put on my original clothes. When I come back out, America snatches the dress from my hands and pays for it before I can protest.

"Uhm..." manage.

"Not like you have money, anyway. And besides, this is for a mission!" America says, ruffling my hair. He's being so nice I decide not to flinch away, even though every fiber of my being want to just move a little to escape his hand.

"So, if you're going to the dance, why don't you come to my house for a few minutes to get ready?" Josie suggests, a dress slung over her arm as well. "Ooh ooh ooh, I wanna do your makeup. Y'know, if it's okay."

I look at England, then America, then Canada helplessly. I don't not like Josie, but today's just been so...chaotic...But I fake a smile anyway, and tell her, "Yeah, sure! That sounds awesome!"

"Yay! Well, you'll have to follow me on my bike," she tells us. "I don't live far away. Just across the street and a block down."

"All right," England says, nodding.

"Yeah! We're the big silver truck, so, yeah. We'll be the one's stalking you," America says.

England slaps the back of his head. "It's not called _stalking_. _Stalking_ is illegal."

"Geez, Artie. It was a _joke_."

"That's _not_ my name."

"Whatever."

Josie giggles. "Your uncles are so funny."

"Oh, this gets old fast," I tell her in all truth.

"All right," she laughs.

We follow her to her house, and she parks her bike on the side of her garage. She opens the door and yells, "Anyone home?"

A woman yells back, "Hi, Josie!"

"Hey, mom!" Josie calls. "I found a new friend at the mall, and I'm helping her and her uncles get ready for the dance tonight!"

The woman appears at the top of the stairs and comes down, smiling. She has nice fingernails.

...Yes, I know, that's really weird. But they're all shiny and smooth. The weird thing about me is that I can't stand having my nails painted, but I like it on other people.

"Hello! My name is Deb Richards, and I guess you've met Josie. Man, this girl. She's so sociable," the woman says, patting Josie's head affectionately with her nice fingernails.

"Moooommm," Josie whines, ducking out of her reach.

One by one, my "uncles" introduce themselves, until it's my turn. "My name's Issa," I say, shaking Mrs. Richards's nicely-manicured hand.

"Apparently, they know Zack, too," Josie says.

America hesitates, and then says in a low tone, "We're with the government," while taking off his glasses like one of those secret-service men would do with sunglasses.

England facepalms, but he's obviously thinking fast. "He was his pediatrician."

America laughs, and I'm surprised he's playing along this believably. "Yeah. Remember when he had chicken pox? Oh, man. Worst case I ever saw."

"Oh, right," Mrs. Richards says. "I remember that. I did forget who you were, but the chicken pox, _yeah_. Josie, didn't you get that too?"

"Mooomm..." Josie whines again. "Come on, let's go get you ready!" she says to me, dragging me past her mom and up the stairs.

I can't help but wonder how America knew. Or, if he didn't, how did he get Mrs. Richards to believe it?

But I can't think about that for long. Josie sits me down on a chair and I sit there for the _longest time_ while she applies makeup on my face. I can't help but notice how her hand avoids my left cheek...

Finally, she asks the accursed question: "How did this happen?"

"Oh, uh. I fell. I'm really clumsy. Like, _really_ clumsy. I fell right on the hinge-thing on the door," I lie quickly. "I fell just the wrong way."

Josie grimaces. "Oww. That sounds like it hurt."

"It did," I say truthfully.

"Okay. Can I play with your hair?" she asks me.

I hesitate. I'm still uncomfortable with anyone touching my head, but she asked it so eagerly I can't just say no. And if I say no, she'll ask why, and then I'll have to lie again. I don't like to lie.

"All right," I tell her. "But I'm warning you: it growls at me."

She giggles. "I'll see what I can do! Hm...your hair's so short, so curls won't look good...I'll see if I can straighten it."

"You're the stylist," I say.

She laughs again as she plug in her straightener. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"O-oh. My uncle Matthew knows a person who works at your school, and she asked him to come. And I just kinda follow them, so, here I am," I lie.

"Okay. That makes sense," Josie says absentmindedly as she starts straightening my hair.

I _hate_ lying. I just feel so untrustworthy. And poor Josie'll be so heartbroken when her newfound "friend" takes away her twin. I mean, they're obviously close; all the pictures in her room have him in them. At least, I'm assuming it's Zack; he looks just like Josie, and America. Minus Nantucket, but, other than that they're the same.

And we can't even tell her why. It's just like what the Axis did.

We're trying to protect him, though...

But we'll practically be kidnapping him, minus the rope, duct tape and chloroform...His family won't have any idea if he's all right, or when he can come back, and they'll be left wondering what they could've possibly done to deserve this.

I suddenly feel sick; I don't like this at all. We're no better than the Axis.

It's just..._wrong_.

"Aaand the finishing touch~!" Josie says. I feel something touch my head, and I open my eyes. Josie put a dark green headband over my head; it matches the green ribbon on my dress perfectly.

"Wowww~!" I gush. "This is better than I could've _ever _done!"

"Thanks~!" she says. "I want to be a beautician when I get older, so that means a lot~!"

"You're welcome," I say. 'I'll get out of your way so you can get ready."

"All right!" she says. "My mom is probably fattening up your uncles so she can eat them."

I laugh. "Okay!"

Downstairs, Mrs. Richards is talking and laughing with America and England; Canada is just kind of sitting in the corner, petting Mr. Kumajirou and occasionally reminding him who he is.

I feel like I'm in one of those cliché movies where the princess walks down the stairs. And, again, I feel kind of uncomfortable. I just don't like people staring at me, alright?!

"Hey, Issa!" America calls, waving from his spot on the couch. "We were just talking about you!"

"O-okay. In a _good_ way, or a _bad_ way?"

"Good way!"

"All right, then," I say, sitting on a one person chair across from Canada. Mrs. Richards is on my left, and America and England on my right. "So, you came up here from Washington D.C.?" she asks. "There's a whole thing on the news; some psychos just walked right into a school in D.C. and kidnapped two fourteen-year-olds. How twisted is _that_?"

"Oh, my goodness. Are the kids all right?" England asks, glancing at me.

"No one knows yet," Mrs. Richards says. "It was only yesterday. The police have tried to track town the three who did it, but it's like they're ghosts. No traces, no clues to where they might've gone; it's like they just vanished."

"We can only hope that the two are okay," he says. I shoot him an amused look.

"I have to admit, I had my doubts about you," she says. "When Josie walked in, I could only think of that news cast, and who could you be?"

"That's completely understandable," England says. "My niece here- quite the social butterfly."

I smile and nod at Mrs. Richards when she looks at me, but then I scowl at Iggy once she looks away. I am _not_ a social butterfly. Unless you're talking about real butterflies, who fly away before you can get close to them. I don't know where Hollywood gets _their_ butterflies, but the ones I've seen don't get within three feet of you. And that better explains me.

Finally, Josie comes back downstairs. Her dress has a white skirt that falls to her ankles with silver swirly patterns, a red across the waist, and the top part is white and silver again. Her long hair falls in ringlets down her back, and a sparkly clip holds her bangs back.

"Wow," I say, "you look amazing!"

"Thanks!" she tells me. "Let's go~!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Once we're in the car, I bite my lip and stare out the window. I don't notice I'm digging my nails into my arms until Canada pulls my hand away from myself. "Nervous?" he asks.

Unable to speak thanks to a sudden dryness in my mouth, I nod, still gazing out the window.

"It'll be okay," he says.

I nod, not believing that for a second. I hate that phrase. "It's okay." It never is. Josh tried the same thing just yesterday, and he's there, and I'm here. I told myself I'd be okay yesterday, too, and I ended up getting kidnapped.

But it's the only thing to say to try to ease a troubled mind. Nothing else really works. "It's okay," though empty words, mean a lot more than anything else you could say.

We pull up to the school behind Mrs. Richard's mini-van. America brings the car to a stop in the parking lot, and we all exit.

"Zack's already here," Josie tells me. "He was here a while ago; helping with the decorations."

"Okay," I say. Is it just me, or is my smile strained? It certainly _feels_ strained.

Josie sees one of her friends and runs off a few steps, then runs back, and she takes my hand and drags me over there. "Dahlia, this is Issa!" she chirps.

Dahlia's dress is a lighter green than the forest green on my dress, and it's covered in little gold swirlies. She smiles and waves. "Hi there!" she says.

"Hello!" I tell her, waving.

"Check out her uncles," Josie says in a whisper. Dahlia fangirl-squeaks and starts following England around.

I hover around Canada as our strange party goes forward to the double doors of the school. Josie throws the doors open first, and the multi-colored lights flood out into the cold January air. The music pounds in my ears before I even go inside, and I feel sick again as I stuff myself between random strangers in search for Josie's twin. _Just act casual_, I tell myself. _Like you're supposed to be here._

Dahlia dragged England off to dance, and more of who I'm assuming are Josie's friends join them. America is talking to who is apparently a teacher, and I don't know where Canada is._Just find Zack. Find him and we can get out of here._

I weave my way through the plethora of students, craning to see over them. I wish I didn't do this, because I know why its' not okay now.

I see Germany. He's in a suit like America's and England's and Canada's to blend in, too; I guess he's being more careful: doesn't need another publicity stunt. Italy is dancing in circles around him, occasionally winking or blowing a kiss at some girls. I don't see Japan; maybe he's just looking in different places here.

Anyway, my breaths catch, and I want to scream, but I close my mouth and grit my teeth so I don't. I have to find him soon, or either the Axis will find him (or me), or I'll be sick.

Finally, I spot him in a clump of guys hitting the balloons around in the corner, and I make a beeline there, breathing heavily and making up an idea to get him away.

"Um, hi," I say to him, smiling nervously. "Will you dance with me?"

Zack raises his eyebrows and points at himself, like, _why would you ever want to dance with me_? I nod.

"Okay, but I can't dance very well," he says.

Anyway, his friends are all guffawing at him and tossing balloons and streamers at us as I grab his hand and drag him to the dance floor. "Sorry this is so weird," I say over the music. "It's like, 'Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but I want to dance with you, so follow me maybe?'" **(Do not own)**

He laughs a little. "Yeah, I guess that's what it's like. I'm Zack, by the way."

"My name's Issa," I say.

"Nice to meet you," he says.

_Yeah. Wait a few minutes. Will it be so nice then?_ I think.

I keep pulling him until I find England awkwardly trying to dance around the clump of girls surrounding him. "Arthur!" I call.

He looks up, sees Zack, and nods. Then he starts detangling himself from the girls. "Yes, I have to go. Really."

"Wait-..." Zack murmurs, poking my shoulder. "I thought you wanted to dance."

I bite my lip and cringe. "Just-...Follow us, and we'll keep you safe."

"Why? What's going on?" he asks, backing away as much as he can with my hand still clamping on his.

I don't answer. America notices and starts trailing, and it seems Canada got bored and went back to the car. I pull on England's sleeve, and point at Germany, whose head rises over the crowd; he's really tall. He nods, and helps ease Zack along.

"Wait, stop," Zack keeps saying, more urgently as we get closer to the doors. "Where are we going? Who do I need to be safe from?"

"Just keep walking," I hear America say. It nearly breaks my heart, because I'm sure this is what Germany or someone would've said to me if I could understand them.

Finally, Zack puts his foot down, and I mean that literally. "I'm not going," he says stubbornly, jerking his hand out of my grasp.

"You have to," England says, giving him a small nudge.

Zack starts backing away; his muscles are tense, waiting to spring into action. "No."

"You see that guy back there?" America asks, pointing at Germany. "He's trying to kidnap you. We're trying to protect you."

"Yeah? Prove it."

"There's no time to explain!" England says impatiently.

America's real lookalike remains silent. I can tell he doesn't want to. He's confused. "I don't understand," he says. "Why _me_?"

"We'll explain that too, but you have to come with us."

Finally Zack gives in and walks again. He pauses once he's out the door. "Can I at least tell my sister...?"

"I'll do it," I say. "I need to give her headband back, anyway. I'll be right back." Before anyone can stop me, I walk back inside. I can't find Josie at first, but I see Dahlia. "Can you give this to Josie?" I ask, handing her the headband. "And tell her Zack's safe."

"Uhm, sure. Okay," Dahlia says.

"Thanks," I say, and then I start back towards the door.

Before I get there, a hand clamps tightly on my shoulder and spins me around, and another hand grabs my wrist. I stare horrified into Germany's eyes as he glares back.


	8. Meeting

Issa's POV

Before I get there, a hand clamps tightly on my shoulder and spins me around, and another hand grabs my wrist. I stare horrified into Germany's eyes as he glares back.

I gasp and start squirming, trying to loosen his grasp on me. He doesn't though; his hand only tightens around my wrist until the only way I'm sure it isn't broken is the fact I didn't hear the crack of the bone. Germany growls something at me, and I shake my head, not understanding any of it; I didn't even hear most of it, due to the loud music and the pounding of blood in my ears.

Suddenly, I remember what happened earlier, and I grin evilly. He's a germaphobe. Germany frowns at me, confused, but then I spit in his face. The moment his grip slackens, I tug my arm free, and, as an afterthought, I kick him in the shin. And then I run.

_Fast_.

"'Scuse me. Excuse me. _Move_," I keep mumbling to the people I shove past in my desperation to get away. Then I break out of the crowd and sprint out the doors, hiking up my dress to my knees. I'm really glad I didn't bother with dress shoes.

"Start the car, start the car, start the car!" I chant at America as I run. Lucky for me, he does, and as soon as I dive in and slam the door in Germany's face, he floors it. The car jerks forward, and as I look back, Germany lands hard on the pavement, blown off from trying to hang on to the door.

I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding with a relieved smile.

"...Well, that went well," Canada murmurs from the back seat.

Zack cuts right to the chase. "Okay, who the freak was that? Who are you guys? Where are we going?"

"We're not going to hurt you," I answer gently. "Just breathe and listen, and we'll explain all this."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. "Okay," he announces in a much calmer voice.

"I'm Issa—Isabella, if it's easier to remember— and this is Alfred, Arthur, and Matthew," I introduce, pointing at each one in turn. They all give some sort of greeting as I say their name.

"Hi," Zack says, albeit reluctantly. "I'm Zack. But I guess you already know that."

I look towards England. This is going to be hard to explain if he doesn't know about the countries. England nods, encouraging me to tell him the truth.

"Okay...you're going to think this is crazy. And it is, but, just, stay with me..." I start.

"...Oookay..."

"Alfred, Arthur, and Matthew are the personifications of America, England, and Canada."

"...Personification..." Zack repeats, frowning.

"It means giving human-like characteristics to inanimate objects," I explain.

"I know what it means," he says. "It's just...the _countries_?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding.

"You're..._representing_ the countries in some sort of international-meeting-thing?"

"No. They _are_ the countries."

"You're not actually, like, as _old_ as the real countries, are you?" Zack asks, sounding bewildered.

"We are," England supplies, sounding dignified.

"...You're telling me you're thousands of years old," he says, unbelieving.

"Pssh. No," America says from the driver's seat.

"Good. That would be really—"

"_Hundreds_ of years old," America corrects.

"I've forgotten how old I am," England throws in. "I could actually be thousands of years old."

Zack groans and buries his face in his hands. "I got in a car with a bunch of whack jobs."

"Heyyy," America whines. "_England_ might be a whack job, but I'm the hero, and heroes aren't whack jobs."

"So—so—so what are you," he stutters, gesturing towards me, "a fairy?"

England frowns. "Faeries are miniscule," he protests. "I should know; I have a few who are my special friends."

"...See?" America says, pointing at the Brit. "Whack job." England scowls at him, and then crosses his arms and pouts.

"That's impossible," Zack insists.

"Not with magic, it isn't," England says.

"...Magic."

"Ahahah, _no_," America says. "Magic isn't real."

"Oh, and the fact that you're freaking _America_, and you're however hundred years old isn't just a _little_ hard to believe?!" Zack exclaims.

"Calm down," I helplessly throw in.

"Don't freaking tell me to _calm down_!" he yells. He slumps forward and rubs his temples. "Oh...my..._gosh_. Insane. Th—that's it, you're all—you're all _insane_."

I'm torn between patting his back comfortingly and just sitting there. Just sitting there sounds safer...But I just can't sit here..."You remember that big blond guy, the one who chased me out here?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah," he grunts. "What about him?"

"He would've kidnapped you."

"Like you guys didn't?"

"We're _protecting_ you."

"Riiiight..."

"He doesn't speak English, and if he did, he wouldn't've told you anything. If you fought against him, he'd've knocked you out. He's using people for some kind of..._experiment_. I don't know _what_, only that the ones he took look exactly like the Allies, who fought in WWII. The other Axis—that guy's Germany—kidnapped me, too. Apparently, they're trying to be very exact, and you're the most accurate," I tell him. "I fought back. That's what happened here." I run a finger gently across my cheek, over both the cut that's just starting to scab and the little black threads pulling it closed.

"...You're that girl from D.C.," Zack notices. "The one who disappeared into thin air." I nod, remaining silent. He looks at me for a second, his gaze lingering over my scar. Finally he says, "So...If you really are the countries, prove it."

The car is silent for a few seconds before England speaks up. "Every war in history is written on our bodies with scars," he says. He pulls up his sleeve and points at a puckered scar along his elbow. "The Revolutionary war..." One completely across his neck, "The war of Napoleon..." Finally his hands just stop at his collar. "And a whole lot more on my chest, but if you don't mind, I'd rather keep my shirt on."

Zack looks horrified at his Napoleonic war scar. "Did—Did they—"

England rubs it and grimaces, like he's remembering something terrible. "I'm afraid so. That bloody frog was rather enjoying himself with the guillotines in those days...Or was that his Revolution? I don't quite recall, seeing as I make an effort to not know about, ah, _French_, history."

"So..._France_..._beheaded_ you..." he says slowly.

"Yes," England says, still holding his throat. "Oh, don't worry," he adds, seeing Zack's expression. "I'm quite alive and well now. I have a pulse and everything. See, here it is," as his fingers move to just below his chin to feel his carotid artery pulsating. "It takes a lot more than cutting off heads to do out with a nation."

"B—but...Did your head just..._grow back_?"

"No, don't be silly. Heads don't grow back; that's preposterous!" England tells him, laughing. "Seeing as I was, well, _incapacitated_, I'm not quite sure how my head got back on my neck. Perhaps they just stitched it right back on, and everything just reattached itself?"

"No more!" Zack cries, holding his hands over his ears, which basically explains how I'm feeling. "I'm gonna be sick!"

"Welp, is _that_ proof enough for ya?" America asks, laughing.

"Yeah, that's _plenty_," Zack says, running fingers agitatedly through his hair. "So, what now? Will, uh, Germany follow us?"

"It's not likely, but it is still a possibility," England says.

"Where are we going?"

There's a hesitation, but America breaks it. "D.C.!" he chirps happily.

"No," England protests, "the _last_ meeting was at your place."

"So?"

"_So_, the room is most likely a disaster area!" England points out. "The next meeting was going to be at my capitol anyways, so it's ready for use."

"Um..." Zack interjects quietly. "I don't have any clothes, or a passport or anything with me."

"Me neither," I say.

"Passports won't be a problem," England says.

"Then let's just stop back at my house in D.C. and we can get clothes for you two there!" America offers happily.

"All right," I say.

"Thanks," says Zack. He slouches back in his seat and stares out the window.

I crane my neck around to look at Canada. He doesn't notice me, and he seems sad and lonely. "What's up, buttercup?" I ask.

He jumps, startled. "O-oh. Nothing, it's nothing..."

"It's always something," I say.

"No, it's really nothing," he says. "I'll get over it in a few minutes; the feeling always passes."

"What feeling?"

He sighs, reluctant to answer. "I just feel so useless..."

I frown. "_Useless_?" I echo. "You're an entire fricking nation, how can you be _useless_!? And not just _any_ nation, you're the second largest in the _world_."

"Th—then..." Canada doesn't seem to want to continue, but he does. "Then why does everyone forget about me?"

"They're blinded by your awesomeness," I tell him, sounding a lot like Prussia. "You shine so freaking bright, no one can see you."

His face cracks into the first genuine smile I've seen on him. "Thank you," he tells me.

"You're welcome," I answer, smiling back. Both of us were so busy talking that we didn't hear the beginning of the argument.

"No. I'm _not_ putting them in danger," Zack keeps saying.

"This isn't just any mobile," England says, holding the small black phone in his hand.

"_Cell phone_," America says.

"Whatever! Either way, you can't tap the wires, or trace the call, or anything. It's a government phone. Technically, I control the government, so all those phone calls in my country reach either this, or a member of the royal families' mobiles."

"Cellular. Telephone," America corrects.

"Oh, butt out," England snaps. "Just call them," he persuades.

Zack sighs, but he takes the phone out of England's hand and dials a number. The person on the other line picks up on the first ring. "Mom?"

That's as far as he goes before an explosion of Mrs. Richards's worried voice blasts out of the phone.

"Mom! Mom, calm down! I'm okay, I'm all right!" Zack says in a soothing voice, holding the device an arm's length away until her voice quiets to a normal volume. "No. None. Yeah. No. Four. No." There's a long pause. "Listen, Mom. I don't know how long it's going to be before I come home again, all right? Just remember that I'm okay. Got it? Good. I love you, too. Yeah, sure." There's a pause as someone else goes on the other line. "Hiya, Josie. How'd you get home so quickly? Oh, right." Josie's talking really fast into the phone, and I bet I couldn't understand what she's saying if I was trying to listen in.

I'm not actually trying to listen. It's just, there's no other sound in the car, and even though he's talking in low tones, Zack's voice carries easily around the vehicle.

"Yeah. Okay. Love you too. Bye." Zack closes the phone and hands it to England, muttering, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," England responds.

Zack leans back in the seat and loosens the tie around his neck, which is improperly done. I don't actually know how to tie ties, but I know that's not how you do it. I try to discreetly pull up the front of my dress. _Man_, I hate dresses. And _strapless_ dresses. _Ugh._

"So..." Zack starts, looking at me. "You just...fought back against Germany?"

"That's kind of an exaggeration," I tell him. "There really wasn't anything heroic about it...I just kind of stood in his way for too long," I say. He lost his temper, pulled out a knife, and slashed me across the face."

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"Yeah. When he first got me, I thought it was just a powerful slap. But then I felt it, and there was blood, and _then_ it _really_ started hurting."

"How did you get away?"

"He left the door open. We wouldn't have gotten far if it wasn't for England."

"Pssh. Nice," he says.

I nod and stare out the window at all the snow. It's maybe seven in the evening, but it's winter, so it's getting dark already. The orange streetlights are on, illuminating the road. My gaze travels down to my hands. I can see a large bruise forming on my wrist from where Germany was holding it. I rub the tender area, wanting nothing more than to forget that, forget this, forget everything. I just want everything to be normal again.

Is that too much to ask for?

"Canada," England says, breaking the silence, "would you call China, Russia, and, erg, _France_, and tell them to come to my capitol as soon as possible?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem," Canada says, digging in his pocket for his phone.

"Is that a freaking _polar bear_?!" Zack asks, pointing at Mr. Kumajirou.

"Yep," Canada answers simply, punching a number into the phone. "You can pet him if you want; he doesn't bite."

"Uhm..." Zack says. He hesitates before sticking his hand over the seat. He holds it over Kuma's head, and then he pokes the bear's forehead. Then he whips his hand back close to himself. "I just touched a _polar bear_," he mutters to himself in shock.

I smile, reach over the seat and pick up Mr. Kumajirou, and deposit him on my lap. "Who're you?" he asks.

"I'm Issa," I remind him.

"Oh, right."

Zack stares at him, a mixture of shock and horror on his face. "It—...it—...it _talks_!"

"Yeah," I say, stroking a strand of fur on the top of Kuma's head.

Zack quickly turns away, staring at the back of England's seat in front of him. "And I thought this couldn't get any _weirder_..."

"Just wait," I tell him. "I've got a feeling it gets a _lot_ weirder..."

"...How so?" Zack asks skeptically.

"Well..." I think of how I can describe this. "Giant Russian who smiles when he's angry...French guy...I'm not exactly sure how to describe him; just think stereotypical French dude... And a Chinese dude with anger issues who looks like a girl."

England turns around to look at me. "How did you know all that? You haven't even met them yourselves!"

"I watched the anime. I _memorized_ the anime. I know _everything_ about you guys," I tell him. "I know that sounds really stalkerish, but you're technically not supposed to exist."

"Wait, wait, wait. Anime, as in, Japanese cartoon?" Zack asks.

"Yeah. Pretty much," I say. "I was just as surprised as you are, trust me."

"Oh, okay. Insane, immortal, fictional whack jobs with talking polar bears and French weirdos. I think I got everything," Zack says in a matter-of-fact voice, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Yeah, that's pretty much Hetalia."

"...What does that mean? Het-la, or whatever."

"Hetalia, the name of the anime. It's a mix of the words _hetare_, meaning 'useless' in Japanese, and _Italia_, Italy in Japanese. _Hetare-Italia._ Hetalia," I explain.

England snorts. "That certainly explains a lot."

"Yeah," I agree.

Suddenly, there's a loud _kolkolkol_ from the back. I jump and whirl around, but Canada's already closing his phone. "Uhm...did you know it's around three in the morning in Moscow?"

England pales. "_Oh_. Did he get the message?"

"Y—yeah. He's not happy about it, though..."

"Have you called China and France yet?"

"Yes," Canada says. "France wasn't too happy either; it's one in the morning, his time. But it was seven in the morning, China's time, and he was already awake from before."

England smiles. "I knew I could count on you, Canada."

Canada blushes in the pleasure of being acknowledged for his good work as he stuffs his cell phone back into the satchel he has that keeps disappearing.

"I'mma do the teleporting thing," America announces. "Mini-me and Mini-Canada, you might wanna hold on to something!"

"Wait—" Zack says. "What does he...?"

I grab his hand. "Just close your eyes and it'll be over soon."

"Uhm...Okay...?...Ah!" Zack yelps as the light flashes around the van, and his grip tightens on my hand when the falling sensation occurs. When the world spins back into focus, Zack's pressing his face into his knees. "What was _that_?!" he exclaims, letting go of my hand and sitting up.

"We just teleported to..." I look up in the front seats questioningly.

"Washington D.C.!" America says proudly.

"Ohhhhkay. Any _other_ thing that might surprise me?" Zack asks.

"I think that's it," I say. "Oh, wait. England has magical friends, like Flying Mint Bunny, Uni the unicorn, and Captain Hook, and America has an alien friend named Tony."

"Hm...," Zack says. "Okay..."

"And I'm pretty sure that's all of it."

"All right," he says. "I'll try to remember."

We pull up to America's house. I grab the plastic bag with my clothes from under the seat before I get out. "Bathroom's down the hall," America tells me.

"Thank you," I say, walking in that direction. I change into my jeans and the white shirt, and I tie the bomber jacket around my waist. How could I have been so stupid as to put on these things? I'd still have my shirt and sweatshirt if I had common sense.

I lean over the sink and start wiping the makeup off my face with a wet washcloth. I accidentally swipe harshly over my injured cheek, and the irritated wound starts to bleed again as I let out a hiss of pain. It's not much, but enough to set a few drops rolling down the side of my face. I wipe the blood away with my fingers, and then I continue washing away the makeup.

When I'm finished, I stare at my hand, at the drying crimson liquid in my palm. It's fascinating; the fully dried parts peel off my fingers when I flex them. I wash my hands completely, neatly put the dress in its hanger in the plastic bag, and then I step out of the bathroom.

"D'you want this?" I ask America. "I mean, you paid for it, and I'll probably never wear it again."

"Sure, I guess," America says. "Here, I'll take it." He removes the dress from my hands, pats the top of my head, and runs out of the room, the dress flying behind him like a cape.

I take a seat across from Canada; England's reading a book he got from nowhere. I just sit awkwardly on the couch until America returns and the volume the room was lacking returns. I zone out most of what he's saying, but it's clear he's talking about hamburgers. I give a nod whenever he looks at me to pretend I'm listening.

I've noticed this a few times today, but ignored it: I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I'm not going to bring this up, though; they're already going against their normal routines, and I don't want to bother them any more than I already have.

Zack comes in the room wearing a tan and white checked over shirt over a white shirt and jeans that must've belonged to America at some point in time. He must've been wearing those shoes at the dance; they're well-worn and covered in pen marks, much like my own. He plops down in the empty spot next to me, and I can't help but scoot away a few inches. My social anxiety wasn't that bad before yesterday, but now I just can't stand being touched at all. I don't know how I changed so quickly.

"Well then," England says, closing his book with a snap. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah~!" America cheers.

I get up wordlessly and follow everyone else outside and into America's truck again. The ride goes by with America and Zack having a long, intense conversation about hamburgers. This time, Zack's more prepared for the teleporting thing, and I no longer am surprised by it; only nauseated.

It's dark in London, and it seems to be snowing. Blizzard-ing would be more correct. "What time is it here?" I ask England.

"Half-past midnight," he says as a particularly fat snowflake lands on his nose. He wrinkles it and wipes the tip.

I don't really care about the snow. The thing that bugs me is the temperature. England runs to a building and unlocks it with a key. America zips right out of the truck and past the door. Zack walks briskly, trying to rub warmth into his arms. I walk beside Canada as he manages his crutches.

Once inside, England wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and then one around Canada's. I stand there for a few seconds, stiff as a board, before accepting the blanket by snuggling in it further. It smells like oranges and cloves.

England flicks on a light switch, and the whole front hall is illuminated. Then he opens the large double doors on the left side, and he flicks those lights on, too. Inside that room, there's a crap ton of spinny chairs around a large oval table. It's _huge_. I guess it's supposed to be, considering it needs to shelter all the countries in the world in one room.

From next to me, Zack tenses. I give him a sidelong glance, and he says, "Oh my gosh. Spinny chairs." And then he runs in the room and launches himself into one. It slides back a few yards from the impact as he curls into a little ball of warmth in his blanket.

I giggle. Just then, America cheers, "YES! It's that one room with the spinny chairs!" And then he does the same thing Zack did.

Canada smiles from next to me. "Birds of a feather," he chuckles.

"Yeah," I reply, hovering uncertainly next to him as he limps into the room. I sit in a chair and tuck my knees close to my chest, wrapping the blanket around them.

"Tired?" he asks me kindly.

"A little," I answer. "I don't want to miss anything, though. I'll be fine."

"All right," as he lowers himself into the seat next to mine, propping his broken leg on the chair next to that.

"...This blanket smells good," I mumble after inhaling the scent again. "Like Christmas..."

Canada smells his blanket. "Yeah, I guess it is kinda Christmas-y..."

Zack, who was pushing his chair around with his feet, accidentally crashes it into mine. "Oops," he mumbles. "Sorry."

"No problem," I reply, uncurling from the little ball I was in and putting my feet on the ground.

"You're really quiet," he points out rather bluntly.

"I know. People tell me that a lot," I explain. "I guess it's because I think so much, I forget I never said it out loud."

Zack nods. "That makes sense."

The doors open, and France struts in. He obviously just woke up; his hair isn't as _fabulous_ as I expected it to be, and he has purple circles around his eyes. I think he mistakes me for Canada, because he hugs me over the back of my spinny chair. I don't expect this, so, when I slap him, it's a reflex. England looks smug, and I realize what I did and apologize over and over in Japanese and butchered French. "_Gomenesai. J-Je s-suis de-desole." _France wails dramatically, and I back away by pushing the chair with my feet.

A few minutes after France calms down, the door opens again, this time revealing China and Jia Li. I smile and get up to embrace Jia Li. She seems as happy to see me as I am to see her. It's weird. We barely know each other, but it's like we've known each other our whole lives. She's a better friend than I've had throughout my entire life.

Finally, the door opens for a third time, and a cold wind that has nothing to do with the temperature outside wafts over the entire room before the man even passes the doors.

Zack looks uncertainly at me. "...I'm assuming he's mad and we should all hide for our lives?" as Russia himself walks in, smiling his dangerous smile while a dark purple aura emanates from him. I notice the pipe in his hand.

"Uhm..." I respond smartly as Jia Li clutches my sleeve.

Russia walks over to the chair next to me and apparently doesn't notice it's occupied by Canada, seeing as he tried to sit on him. "Ah—_Ch_—c_hotto matte, kudasai,_" I stutter, holding my hands out in a "stop" position. Russia looks at me, standing over Canada. I wheel Canada away a few feet and take another one for Russia. "_Dozo."_ **(Wait a minute, please; Please [in a "here you go" kind of way])**

Russia remains standing, surveying me. I have trouble keeping eye contact. He reaches out and starts playing with my hair, and I freeze; I don't want to move to get him off me, in case he gets his pipe out again, but I don't want him to touch me.

Luckily, America is there to be my hero. He barks something in Japanese, and Russia turns away. The bad news is that he starts _kolkolkol-_ing at America, flexing his wrist so the pipe falls out of his sleeve and into his hand. America only grins like this is exciting and raises his fists. No one seems to want to get in between them for fear of getting hurt, so I take a deep breath. "America, apologize," I order, my voice shaking a little.

He stops and looks at me, and Russia stops too, wondering what I said to make America back down. "But why?" he whines. "You're _my_ citizen, and he has no right to be touching you!"

"It's nothing, really. Just touching my hair isn't worth starting a new Cold War over."

"She's right," England throws in.

America grumbles and flops onto his spinny chair, scowling at Russia. Russia shrugs and sits down in the vacant chair. I see Canada sigh in relief and mouth, _Thank you_, at me. I nod and mouth, _no problem._

The nations sit and start talking. It goes just like any other meeting in Hetalia with the Allies; pandemonium. France and England pick fights on each other until England's strangling France and France is pulling England's hair, and America jumps on the table and yells, "_Ore wa HIIROO DA~!"_, and China sits there facepalming, and Russia just smiles and occasionally goes, "_Jiii~!"_ , and Canada keeps trying to offer his opinion. **(I'm the HERO! And **_**Jiiii**_** is just a little sound effect he makes. ^J^)**

"Uhm...Is this..." Zack starts.

"Normal? Yeah," I answer. "It's cool, seeing it in real life. Oh, don't worry about France and England, they won't _really_ hurt each other."

"Uh...Okay..." Zack glances at Russia, who chooses to go "_Jiii~!"_ at that moment. "...He's kind of creepy..."

I give a small laugh. "Yeah, most people think so."

"Well, don't you?"

"Speaking as a Russia fangirl, no, not really. But speaking real, right here, right now, yeah, kinda," I explain. "It doesn't really make sense, but there you go."

"...He can have _fans_?" Zack repeats, glancing again at the giant.

"Yeah! On the anime, he's _adorable_," I insist.

"...He looks likely to explode and whack anyone with that faucet at any given moment..."

"Oh, no. Russia's a big sweetie. He wouldn't actually hurt a fly." I pause and then add, "Unless that fly is either American or Baltic."

"...But _we're_ American!"

"Well, this is kinda hard to explain...In the anime, Russia likes to...well, _stretch_ Latvia because he's too small. But he's small because he keeps pressing down on his head."

"...Uhm..." is his only response.

"And, just don't mention anything space-related around him. Well, I guess you kinda _can't_, but, yeah. Russia _hates_ America for landing on the moon first. They're both so competitive..." I say.

"That was, like, fifty years ago," he points out as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses farther up his nose. "They're still going on with the moon thing?"

"Well, fifty years is a lot to a human, but to a nation, they go by like days." I pause and glance at America and England. They're still wrapped in their own things, but I still take the precaution of lowering my voice. "They're both still sore from the Revolutionary War," I inform him. "...You also didn't hear that from me."

"...Heh, okay," he says. "Like, _how_ sore?"

"Like, America can't even go clean his storage closet because it brings back too many old memories. And the fandom says whenever you mention the war, England starts, like, coughing up blood because he's so upset."

"...The _fandom..._"

"Yeah," I laugh. "The anime is just that, but the fandom is where Hetalians come together to interpret scenes, and make up fan fictions, and occasionally have a shipping war or two. Oh, by the way...If you ever meet a Hetalia fan who's not as laid back as I am..._Do not_, and I repeat, _do not_ insult their One True Pairing. They're likely to freak out and rip your lungs out."

Zack looks stunned at the information.

"Like I said, I'm one of the more casual Hetalians. We're a dying breed, we are," I say, leaning back in the chair and clasping my hands on top of the blanket.

The meeting around us seemed to have gotten itself into a little bit of order during that conversation; long enough for England, I think, to explain why we're here. And, he finishes right as I do that, and there's silence as France and Russia stare at us three humans. Beside me, Jia Li shifts uncomfortably, and even Zack seems awkward. I can feel my face heating up at the attention, and then Russia stands up, walks over to me, _lifts me out of my freaking chair_, and hugs me.

Russia's hugs, just so you guys know, _hurt_. A _lot_.

Both my hands are squished against my neck, and my feet don't touch the ground. Russia has one hand on my shoulder, and the other around my waist, crushing me against his chest. I can vaguely feel him swishing me from side to side in enthusiasm of the embrace.

"Sq-squishing me-me..!" I gasp into his scarf. "C-can't...B-breathe...!"

After he puts me gently back on my feet, he gives me some space. Canada is finally acknowledged, and then they all start talking on their cell phones in various dialects. I ask England after he finishes his call, "What's going on?"

"We're going offensive this time," he says. "Gathering about twenty-five soldiers from each army and attacking Germany to see if we can either free the other hostages or catch one of the Axis." He then gives me a rather stern look. "And no, you, nor Zack, nor Jia Li may come."

I frown. "Why, though?"

"Because you're in danger! We'd practically be handing you guys back on a silver platter!"

"_They_'re in danger, not me!" I protest.

England seems to think this over, but he still doesn't look pleased. "You've caused a lot of trouble for them," he points out. "I wouldn't be surprised if one of them wanted to kill you if they had the chance."

"I could stick close to one of you guys," I offer.

He frowns at me. I try to look firm. I mean, I _do_ want to go and help, I really _do_, but I'm still scared. What England said does make sense; I don't see a reason why Germany wouldn't want to kill me, considering I basically annoy the crap out of him, and I bit him, and spat in his face and kicked him...Japan and Italy aren't really homicidal people, so I don't think I have to worry about them...

But I can't just leave Josh there. Also, he might not trust any of the Allies, even though they speak English.

Finally, England caves. "Fine. _But,_ you have to stay close to either Canada or myself. I frankly don't trust the others very much, America especially. He's too eager for violence, and he'll probably run straight in there first thing."

"Okay," I agree. I can't help but smile a bit, because I think I'm finally standing up for myself against them. I mean, yeah, it's only been twenty-four hours, but a lot can happen in one day. I'll be brave. I'll go help Josh and Dimah and Harvey. I'll make a difference.


	9. Spain

**I SHOULD BE WORKING ON THE EFFECTS I KNOW I'M SORRY BUT I'M WRITER'S BLOCKED IT SUCKS sO BAD**

Josh's POV

I raise my head as I hear the muffled click. At first, I glance at my door, but it's still closed and impenetrable. Which means...

I shoot up on my knees and press my ear against the wall separating me from Issa; Harvey and Dimah peer curiously at me from across the room, but I don't care. I hear footsteps, and Jia Li is saying something in rapid-fire Chinese. I lightly rap the wall with my knuckles. "Issa? Did I hear the door open?" I call. There's no answer.

Suddenly, Issa lets out a loud cry of pain, and I gasp. "Issa!" I yell, punching the wall. I force myself to shut up when she talks.

"Go. Away," she growls.

I don't know who she's talking to, but I'm pretty sure it's not Italy; he can't do anything that could make her shout like that, and that leaves Japan and/ or Germany... Behind me, Harvey and Dimah babble at me and the wall in French and Russian. "Shh," I tell them quietly. They quiet down for a few minutes, then start up when Germany's voice howls. "Issa!" I shout, pounding on the barrier. "What's going on?! Are you all right?!"

"I'm fine!" she calls hastily.

Dimah just stares at the wall, frowning at it. Harvey pokes me and asks urgently, "What happens?"

"I don't know. Shh," I respond.

"I'm okay," Issa says in a quiet voice. "I'm okay." She's talking to Jia Li, I guess. Suddenly, Jia Li screams. There's silence for a few minutes, then Issa shrieks, "_Iie! Watashi mo. Watashi mo."_ **(No! Me too. Me too. But Josh doesn't know that. :3)**

Germany says something, and Issa replies frostily, "I'm not letting you take her without me."

My stomach clenches when I realize she's volunteering to go wherever Germany wants to take Jia Li, and I furiously mash my fist against the wall. "Don't you _dare_, Issa!" I yell, terrified. "Don't you _dare_ try to be a hero!"

"Shut up, Josh!" she yells at me. "I was too afraid to stop them in the basement, but I'm not letting Jia Li go through this alone!"

I remain silent, ear pressed against the wall, listening. She's actually going! She's going with him! "Issa!" I cry.

"I'll be fine," she says to me. "I promise."

I can't stop her. "...Come back safe..." I finally answer.

She doesn't answer, but the door on her side clicks shut. I slide down the wall and sit there, staring at my hands. They're bruised. Harvey is looking at me with pity, and Dimah moves to hover by the window. Both of them seem shaken by the event, but Dimah wipes his face clean of all emotion. I find that weird, because Russia almost never stops smiling in the anime. Harvey doesn't seem anything like France, either. Or, he does, but it's when France is acting like a brother and not a perv.

"You fine?" Harvey asks me. I nod, ignoring the butchered English; it's not like he can help it.

"The _fille_," he says. "Her name Issa, correct?" **(Girl)**

"Yeah," I mutter.

"You _amour_ Issa, do you not?" **(Love)**

I hesitate, and Harvey smiles.

"I'm worried about her," I tell him. "She's too independent. She doesn't know when to stop." I glance up at him. "You didn't understand a word I just said, did you?"

"...Understand? _Non_," he says, shaking his head. "I understand 'worried'. You worry for Issa?" **(No)**

I nod again. "Yeah."

Harvey sighs, slumping down next to me. "English is difficult."

"Yeah," I agree. I've been speaking it my whole life, and things still don't make sense to me.

"_Ey,_" Dimah says abruptly. _"Idi syuda i posmotret."_ When neither me nor Harvey move, he sighs and beckons us to the window. "_Smotri."_ **(Hey. Come here and see. Look. *Russian*)**

Out the window, there's a person in a green coat walking to the front door. He's not wearing the military uniform of the German soldiers, and he looks ...just ...like ...me ...No, I'm imagining it. We're up, like, five stories. I just can't see him properly. The man disappears as he goes up the steps to the front door. While I anticipate a doorbell, or a knock or something, there's a small scuffle. Then two small figures run out in the snow, towards the foliage. The man follows. With a start, I recognize Issa and Jia Li.

No...It can't be them...Please, don't let it really be them...She said she'd come back...!

The person I hope isn't Issa suddenly drags who I'm hoping isn't England behind a scruffy snow-covered bush. A few minutes later, the front door slams open, and the Axis are in the snow. Germany's making a snow tidal wave everywhere, Italy is running around in circles, and Japan is examining the snow. He's looking for their tracks. But as soon as my stomach clenches in fear, he stops and starts calming Germany down. Finally, they all go back inside.

The person I hope isn't Issa stands up and tried to run away with the person I'm hoping isn't Jia Li, but the person I hope isn't England stops them. They seem to be talking. Then, they all walk away.

...Leaving us here...

I frown at the window. Then I stalk away and plop back where I was, against the wall in between the bed I claimed and the three dressers. That wasn't Issa. It couldn't've been.

But as I think that, the door bursts open, revealing the Axis. The Germany confronts us in Japanese, wasting no time. "Just speak something one of us understands!" I mumble angrily at him.

He crosses over and lifts me to my feet by my shirt collar, and then slams my back against the wall. I don't resist, only glare at him. He waves a picture in my face. It's the picture Japan took in the van yesterday after knocking Issa out. I had my arm around her, and she was leaning on me, and my other hand was stretched out, trying to cover the lens. My mouth was open because I was yelling at them. I didn't bring this up before because I didn't find it relevant. Anyway, Germany keeps pointing at Issa, shouting at me.

"I don't know where she is!" I yell.

Germany's head jerks to the side, and he turns; Dimah threw his shoe at him, and it hit his ear. Germany lets go of the front of my shirt and advances towards Dimah, scowling at him. Dimah crosses his arms and stands his ground. "_Ya by vyigral etot boy yesli on ne meshayet,"_ he says angrily, nodding at the Japan, who hovers uncertainly by the door. **(I would have won that fight if he didn't interfere)**

Germany apparently doesn't understand, but he lashes out to punch the Russian. Dimah grabs his fist with both hands and knees him in the stomach, but he doesn't react. He takes something from his pocket with his free hand, and Dimah's eyes widen, his grip slackening. But it's too late; Germany tases him.

Dimah cries out in pain and falls to the ground, his limbs jerking in some sort of frenzied dance. Germany looks coldly down at him, like his job is done.

Harvey takes an indignant step forward, glaring at him. Germany only pushes him back with such force he almost flies across the room.

Finally, the Japan intervenes, and they all leave.

Harvey is bleeding from his nose, but it doesn't seem broken. Dimah is still twitching, panting heavily. He hasn't lost consciousness, but his violet eyes are staring at some random point on the ceiling, unfocused and distant. "..._Trusy_..." he rasps almost inaudibly at the closed door. **(Cowards)**

I don't know what to do. Should, like, his head be elevated, or something? I'll try that and see what happens... I grasp Dimah's shoulders and heave him into a sitting position, leaning against the wall by the window. His eyes are half-closed and clouding over. As I watch, he closes his eyes and goes limp, finally falling into unconsciousness.

"Is he fine?" Harvey asks thickly, one hand covering his nose.

"I think so. He fell asleep," I report.

"We should make him comfortable," he suggests, pointing at one of the beds.

"Yeah, sure," I say. "I got his arms." And I lift his torso by his underarms while Harvey grasps his ankles, and he carry him to the bed. "Careful. Don't drop him."

Harvey seems to know exactly what he's doing. He walks into the bathroom, searches around the cupboard, and returns with a first-aid kit. On Dimah's stomach is a small circular wound that's violently turning red. Harvey takes out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide (at least that's what I think it is) and disinfects it. Then he covers it with a sanitary cloth and medical tape.

"Uh...can you...um...turn him...?" he struggles, pointing at Dimah. I shrug and help him flip Dimah onto his stomach. While I make sure he'll be able to breathe, Harvey finds another taser wound on his lower back, and he does the same thing to it. I guess the chloroform didn't work with him when they tried to subdue him, so they tased him? Harvey's frowning, and I see why: Dimah's back is covered in scars.

With a start, Dimah wakes up. It seems to take him a minute to remember exactly what happens. He touches the new bandages, and then he frowns and pulls his shirt back down, hiding the cuts and bruises.

He tries to stand up, but I can tell it's hurting him. He's still weak. "No," I tell him, trying to sound firm. "Stay down."

Dimah scowls at me and tries again to stand. He makes it on his feet, but as he tries to take a step, he falls on the carpet. Harvey helps me coax him back to the bed, and it takes even more to get him to lie down.

Harvey goes and puts the first-aid kit where he found it, and then he washes the now-dried blood from his face and hands. He's getting a black eye.

Not much else happens after that. I sit in my corner and fret about Issa, Harvey just sits there and spaces off, and I'm pretty sure Dimah spends most of it unconscious.

After it gets dark, I start drifting off. I know that's not right, because the jetlag shouldn't have worn off so quickly, but there you go. I keep catching myself in a state of semiconsciousness. Harvey fell asleep a while ago, and Dimah's been asleep. Finally, I give in and drift off.

I'm not asleep for long, I can tell that. There's a large commotion outside. I yawn and rub my stinging eyes before hauling myself to my feet. Dimah's awake, and he moved himself to the window. Even in the dim lighting, he looks better, but he's still stiff. However, his eyes search the outside hungrily, almost excitedly. I peer outside and see why.

Soldiers. And a lot of them. They're not German, or Japanese, or Italian, for that matter. I can tell because there are a five people holding five flags, each with a different country on it. I recognize America, England, China, France, and Russia. And then I find a little Canadian flag over two people. I laugh. "This is awesome," I declare.

I turn around and pick a pillow off a bed, and I chuck it across the room at Harvey. It hits him, and he jerks awake. "Come here!" I say. "Come look at this!" He rubs at his eyes before standing up and joining us. A small, relieved smile goes on his face as he realizes they're on our side.

I take a closer look at the two people under the minute Canadian flag. One is looking up, searching for something. The person stops and takes off her helmet, and she waves her arm at us.

I think...I think that's Issa.

_"Smotri,_" Dimah murmurs, pointing at the front of the wave of people. A man who looks exactly like him steps forward, what looks like a long, silver stick in his hands. I can almost see his purple aura. **(Look)**

Russia starts beating the door with his pipe, and then a rush of soldiers swarm the entrance.

Suddenly, the door in our room opens with a bang, and three German soldiers run in. Before any of us can protest, they tie our arms in front of us (I find this weird. But I guess it takes less time), gag us, and then start shoving us out the door with the barrel of their rifles. None of us want to get shot, so we go in the direction they want to go.

Apparently, they want us to go out the back. There's a van waiting there.

_No no no!_ I think. _They're so close!_ I start struggling against the ropes. It doesn't take long for me to get rope-burned, and my wrists start bleeding as I continue to thrash. After what seems like hours, the restraints break, and I shove the soldier closest to me away. And then I run as fast as I can towards the small army in the front of the massive building. If I could just get to them, they can go help Dimah and Harvey...

Before I can even turn the corner, the soldier I shoved brings the stock of his gun against my head with a sharp _crack_. I'm not sure what broke, his gun, or my skull. Either way, my head screams with agony, and I collapse in the snow in a heap.

Everything seems to dull. The only things I'm really aware of are the pain and the cold. I vaguely notice the red of my blood around, dying the white crimson. The soldier lifts me over his shoulder and carries me to the van. It's not very dignified, but I can't do anything more than clench my hands into fists.

The soldier stuffs me in between Harvey and Dimah, and then he slams the door shut. A different soldier starts the car and and floors it. I shakily force my limbs to move, turning my torso to see behind. There's a small figure getting smaller and smaller until it's gone.

I straighten out, going limp. Harvey keeps trying to see my scalp wound, but it hurts and I don't want him to touch my head, so I wave him off, but he keeps coming. "Stop it," I keep trying to say. But my ears only register a few muffled syllables in my voice, and I'm confused. That's when I remember I still have that gag over my mouth, and my words would be slurred anyway. Even my thoughts are slurred.

It hurts. My head hurts. I want to die, or pass out, or something that'll make it stop hurting. I press my hands over where I think it's bleeding the most and hold them there, trying to remove the pain. Harvey keeps trying to make me stop, but it hurts, and I can't think straight, and what does he know?

I feel like I'm falling. I'm spiraling down. Everything has a black shade to it. Are the shadows getting darker? Where is everything going? Finally, I drop my hands to my lap, lean back against the seat, and black out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dimah's POV

I watch silently as the blond German holds Josh against the wall, shouting at him in Japanese and pointing to a picture. Josh says something in English, but he doesn't let him go. I unlace my shoe, take aim, and chuck it at him. It hits his ear, and he turns to glare at me. I glare right back. "I would've won that fight if he didn't interfere," I tell him, nodding at the Japanese man. He looks surprised at being acknowledged, but he doesn't say or do anything.

Even though he doesn't seem to understand me, he does the thing I want him to: he brings back his fist and tries to punch me. I stop his hand with mine and bring my knee into his stomach at the same time. He doesn't double over in pain or anything. In fact, he stuffs his other hand in his pocket. When he brings out the black remote, I gasp and let go of his fist, but that makes no difference. He still presses the button, sending an electric current through my body.

I collapse in a heap on the ground, twitching violently. It's as unpleasant an experience as it was yesterday, when the Japanese man tased me. I jerk and sputter on the ground all the same. My brain seems to have turned off, and the only thing I'm aware of is the pain.

From somewhere far away, the door closes. "...Cowards..." I choke out between gasps. Then I black out.

When I wake up again, I still hurt. My limbs are sore, and my stomach is killing me (Not literally, I hope). Instinctively, I press my hand against the sore spot, and I'm surprised when my fingers come in contact with a bandage. I find the other new wound on my back, the one from yesterday, and it also has a bandage over it. I open my eyes, and Josh and Harvey are staring at me with a mixture of pity and surprise on their faces. I wonder why, and then I realize. They must've seen the rest of my back.

I pull the bottom of my shirt down and scowl at them for wanting to know more about this. I can't tell them, obviously, but they're thinking about it. They must think I did this to myself. I didn't; don't worry. But it's still personal.

My back isn't even the worst part. I'd say it's my arms. That's why I'll never wear short sleeves, even if I do go to a warm place where people wear short sleeves all the time. My arms are constantly throbbing, and they're mangled with cuts. It's a wonder to me they still work.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to get up, but as soon as I put my weight on my feet, I fall back on the bed. Josh moves in front of me and says something in what he probably thinks is a commanding tone. I scowl at him and try again. This time, I stand, but as soon as I try to take a step, my legs give out on me, and I fall.

I curse under my breath. Harvey and Josh coax me back on the bed, and finally get me to lie down. I still hurt all over. I hate being this weak. I learned from a very early age the weak are here for the strong's amusement. And for once, I am the prey. It's despicable; I don't know these men. I don't know what they want. They're strangers. And they're the predators. When I get home, my father will most likely say almost exactly the same thing.

Well..._If_ I get home...

The rest of the day passes with nothing interesting. I drift in and out of consciousness, waking up only to be disgusted with my own weakness, and then doing nothing to stop myself from falling asleep again.

Finally, I wake up for good, and I feel strong enough to get up. I walk over to the window, and I can't help but be ashamed of my wobbly gait and how unnatural it is. I was taking stiff steps, hardly able to move at all. I sit on the bay window and just look out the window. It's nighttime. The moon is a waxing crescent, smiling at me from its home in the sky. There's several flashes of light, and then a lot of people come into the yard in front of this giant building.

Soldiers.

They're in the uniforms of five different countries. ...No, wait. Six different countries. There are only two people with a small Canadian flag, and the rest of them seem to be in equal proportion. I see America, England, China, France, and Russia in addition to Canada. I smile down at the Russian flag, hope rising in me. Maybe they'll help us.

But...Do I _really_ want to go home?

I decide yes. My sisters need me.

Suddenly, Josh is next to me. His emerald eyes gaze over the scene, and he looks happy. Then he turns around and throws a pillow at Harvey, who wakes up with a start. Josh calls something in English and waves him over. The same hopeful expression crosses the French boy's face.

And then, the door burst open, and three German soldiers cram in. They tie us up and gag us, and then poke us in the back with their rifles to get us moving. We go in the directions they want us to in fear of getting shot.

We go outside, in the back of the mansion. There's a black van with tinted windows waiting for us.

B-but...! The army! It's right there!

Apparently, Josh has the same thought as I do. It takes a few minutes, but he breaks free of his ropes and takes off, running towards the army in the front yard.

But one of the soldiers chase him, and he brings the stock of his rifle hard against the back of Josh's head. It must've cut him a little, because once he kneels over, the snow around his head turns red. I don't worry about that too much; scalp wounds always bleed a lot. What I'd worry about is the bruise he's going to get on his skull.

A soldier pokes me in the back with his gun, saying something gruffly in German. I don't resist as he pokes me into the van. Harvey struggles weakly against the ropes, like he's confused. The soldier shoves Josh's semi-limp body in between us, slams the door shut, and then a different soldier floors it.

I turn around in my seat. We were so close to freedom...

There's someone running behind us. The person's wearing a uniform. From the lights of this vehicle, I can barely see her face. She has one hand outstretched, reaching for us. She looks so sad. But the van is faster than she is, and soon the girl disappears into the darkness.

Josh bemusedly tries to see over the seat. When he sits right again, Harvey starts trying to assess the damage done, but Josh makes a weak slap at his hand. He makes a sound behind his gag, but I probably couldn't understand it even if I did speak English. He holds his palms over where the blood staining his hair is darkest. Harvey must know some special medical protocol that means it's bad to be touching the wound, and he tries to make him stop. Josh waves him off. After a few more moments, his hands fall to his sides, and he goes limp.

Harvey jumps at the opportunity to clean the blood from the side of his face with his sleeves. Then, he takes the gag out of Josh's mouth and ties it around his wound with difficulty. When he tries to take off his own gag, the soldiers watching us raise their guns again. Harvey jumps, and he spreads his fingers in a way of surrender. Slowly, he takes the rag out of his mouth, and then he ties it around one of the American's bloody wrists. I didn't notice they were cut; I guess it happened when he broke the ropes. Anyway, Harvey pulls his hands away to show the soldiers that's all he was going to do. I do the same thing with my gag, trying to control my muscles that have gone haywire a few times from being tased two consecutive days.

There sure is a lot of blood. He'll be fine; I've lost just as much blood before, and I'm still alive.

The soldiers glare at us to make their feelings clear, and then they lower their weapons. Suddenly, there's a flash of light that envelopes the whole van. Time seems to stop. Then the van and everyone in it is falling. I clench my eyes shut, and then it's over.

Where's all the snow? What happened to the thick foliage of evergreens? What just happened?!

Before I can worry about the change in scenery, my problems get a lot bigger: the German soldiers are bringing the van to a stop in front of a house that is as equally big to the one wherever we just were. The architecture of it is more...Spanish.

Josh wakes up with a start. He bolts upright, then realizes that isn't a good idea. He clutches at his head. The pieces of cloth on his wrists surprise him, but he doesn't seem surprised by the one around his head.

The soldiers are jabbering at us in German. They make us get out of the van. Josh almost collapses as soon as he puts weight on his feet, but Harvey and I catch him by his elbows in unison. He nods in thanks, and we help him in front of the door, which is where the soldiers want us to go. One of the soldiers, the oldest of the three, it seems, knocks on the door. It takes a while, but eventually, it opens, revealing a man with wavy brown hair and friendly green eyes, a curious smile on his face. The soldier hands him an official-looking paper, and the smile flickers off his face for a minute as he reads. Then he nods, and all of the soldiers leave.

I stare at their retreating backs, stunned. They- they don't want us to follow them? I guess not, seeing as they walk away without looking back.

I look at the man. He smiles at us, and then he brings out a pocketknife. All three of us flinch back, and he holds up his hands, talking in calming tones. He smiles at Harvey, and gestures for his hands. Tentatively, he holds out his bound wrists, and the man cuts through the ropes. Then he does the same to me.

The man gestures for us to follow him. We do, because it's not like we have anywhere else to go. The first room is a white room, and it's full of medical contraptions that I never bothered to learn about. The man turns and smiles at Josh, who is still unsteady on his feet, and then he points to the cot in the middle of the room. Josh seems stunned, but he doesn't protest when Harvey and I make him sit on it.

The man unwraps the rag around Josh's head and moves some of his hair around to look at the wound. He makes a tutting sound with his teeth, and then he decides the best thing is a better bandage. I guess that might be right; the worst must be a bruise, a small crack in his skull at the most, and the cut probably isn't even worth stitches. He hands him an icepack to put on his head, and then checks his wrists. It seems a bit backwards, but that's what he did. The man only does better bandages, also.

Then he sits down in a chair, and beckons us to do the same. Harvey and I do, a bit apprehensively; this man is almost _too_ cheery...

Anyway, he seems to be thinking. He tells Harvey in butchered French, "_Mon...nom...est Antonio._" **(My name is Antonio in French. :3)**

Harvey nods and goes, "_Mon nom est Harvey." _**(My name is Harvey in French)**

I guess they're introducing themselves. "My name's Dimah," I throw in.

"Dimah?" Antonio echoes, and when I nod, he smiles. He turns to Josh. "_My...Uh..."_ He snaps his fingers a few times, trying to remember the right word. "_Name!" _he exclaims, "_...is Antonio._"

Josh nods. "_I'm Josh_," he says, holding the icepack tightly against his head.

The door opens, and a man who looks a lot like that Italian guy walks in, complaining about something loudly in Japanese. He stops, stares at us, and then starts throwing tomatoes.

I don't even know where he got them. It's like he pulled the red fruit out of his sleeves, or something.

Anyway, by the time Antonio stops him with a hug (and I mean that literally), all four of us were covered in tomato chunks. Yes, four; the man didn't spare Antonio. The man punches Antonio's face to get him away, and then he stalks off, munching on another tomato.

"_Lo siento!_" Antonio squeals, going towards Harvey, who is closest, and wiping the juice off his face. It doesn't help that he has tomato on his hands, so he only succeeds in getting Harvey's face messier. **(I'm sorry!)**

Harvey back up slightly, and the back of his knees hit the cot. He uses his sleeve to wipe away the red. But then he has blood on his sleeves, so his face just gets redder and redder.

Antonio makes the "One minute" gesture, and he dashes out of the room. I exchange skeptical looks with the other two; it's like he doesn't care if we walked out right now. In fact, he seems to be a complete idiot.

A few minutes later, he returns with a roll of paper towels. He hands some to each of us, then takes some for himself, and then we all take a few minutes to clean ourselves. I got all of it off my face and hands, most of it out of my hair, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get it out of my school uniform. Harvey seems to think the same thing. Josh is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, but they're also ruined.

Josh keeps wincing every time he tries to touch his head to get the tomato out of his hair. And for good reason, too. I bet it hurts a _lot_. Antonio just realizes this (which gives me more reason to believe he's stupid), and looks for something in a nearby drawer. He comes back and holds out a bottle of what I think are painkillers and a paper cup full of water from the sink right there.

The American shakes his head at the offering, and I note he still has the icepack against his head. The Spaniard keeps offering the medicine, and Josh keeps declining it. I agree with him; even though he seems like a nincompoop, Antonio could actually be someone very dangerous who acts dumb.

Finally, Antonio gives up and puts the medicine and cup on the counter. He turns back to Josh and tries to make him lie down on the cot. Josh gives him a funny look and shakes his head again, this time hiding the expression of pain I can tell he wants to show. When Antonio doesn't stop, he waves him off irratatedly, and he mutters, "_Go away, Spain._"

Throughout this whole time, I realize Antonio gives each of us a different smile. Harvey's is a genuine one. Mine looks rather forced. Josh's is cold. He doesn't like Josh much.

Anyway, the coldness spreads up to his eyes, and my "Antonio is a sadistic person who acts stupid" theory is supported. He looks just..._evil._

I take a step forward. Even though I'm behind him and he can't see me, my shoes still squeak against the floor. Once he glances back at me, I cross my arms and glare at him to show I'm not afraid of defending my friends.

..."Friends"...?

Allies. I meant allies. Fellow victims. Maybe even acquaintances. But not friends.

Friends mean a connection. And in this situation, connections are bad. Connections mean anyone can use anyone against you. And I can't let that happen, to me or to others.

But the icy gleam in his green eyes vanishes as soon as he sees my defensive stance. He chuckles darkly, murmuring to himself in Spanish. Then he leaves the room, still talking under his breath in the foreign language.

_What was that about_? I think.

I start thinking about what Josh said. "_Go away, Spain._" What does that mean? I took an English class a long time ago, so I don't remember much...Isn't the last word...Spain? Yes, I think so. But I don't know any of the other words.

But why was he talking about Spain? I think word for "Spaniard" in English is something like "_Spaniard"_...So...He was talking about Spain, as in the country.

But..._Why_?

**YEY I FINISHED THIS. :D Okay. Ignore the next chapter mostly until I get done with it. HOPEFULLY, THAT WILL TAKE A WHILE, BECAUSE IF IT DOES, IT MEANS I'M BEING PRODUCTIVE ON MY OTHER STORIES OKAY OKAY BAI**


	10. Flashbacks and Nightmares

**Hi there I don't own Hetalia or Call of Duty or Paranormal Activity bye**

Issa's POV

After I walk back to my seat, Zack asks, "What's happening, exactly?"

"We're gonna attack Germany and see if we can break out the other three people, or trap either Germany, Japan, or Italy, or both. Depending on how lucky we are," I respond, taking the blanket and folding it as I talk.

"Oh, cool," he says. He looks between me and England, and then slowly at the other countries at the room, and then at England again. "He said we're not going, am I right?"

"You and Jia Li aren't going," I clarify.

"And you are?"

"Yeah," I respond lightly.

"Aw," he whines. "I wanna blow up some countries."

"I probably won't even touch anything that explodes," I say. "And I don't want to. I'm extremely clumsy."

"Trade places?" he asks.

"You're in danger still; I'm not."

"Touché," he hums.

England's on the phone again. He seems to be pleading with someone, in a slightly whiny voice. And, I realize, in English. "Please?" he asks. "It's very important. Yes, now would be great. You will?! Thank you so much. You're the best." He closes the cell phone and snaps something at France when he "Onhonhon"s. A fight ensues. Russia starts to play with Jia Li's hair, which causes an argument between him and China, and Jia Li scoots closer to me. I try my best to console her without words. America and Canada are chatting, but America stops occasionally to add fuel to the flames between France and England.

"This again?" Zack asks.

"Yeah. It's nearly impossible for them to not fight," I respond mildly.

"You'd think they'd get along after centuries of each other."

"I know, right?" I answer.

The door opens. A stern-looking young woman stands there. It looks like she just threw clothes on after rolling out of bed. Her long chocolate brown hair is smoothed into a bun, but many strands hang loose around her face. She's not wearing makeup, and a white blouse is tucked into a navy-blue skirt. Her stormy eyes survey the situation with distaste. "Mr. Kirkland," she calls to England, her accent matching his. When she gets no response, she repeats herself impatiently, "Mr. _Kirkland_."

England stops strangling France. "Jane!" he calls, waving to her childishly.

"You should feel lucky," she tells him, her voice as cold as the snow outside, "that I came. I'm long off-duty."

"I know," England says, looking sheepish. "It's urgent, though."

"You just need me to babysit, am I correct?"

"Yes, pretty much."

Jane doesn't look too happy with her task.

Zack frowns from next to me. "I'm not a baby," he protests quietly.

Jane turns to the three humans. In a much more motherly tone, she tells us, "Hello, there."

"Uh...Hi," Zack says. I merely wave.

England pokes her shoulder. "Jia Li only speaks Chinese."

"That's not a problem." And she starts a conversation with her in that language.

"Jane's my assistant," England clarifies to me and Zack.

"Oh, okay," I respond.

"We obviously can't leave you and Jia Li here alone," he continues to Zack.

"Right," he agrees, and he eyes Jane untrustingly from by me.

It's weird. People aren't usually very fond of me unless they've taken the time to get to know me. I just met him and Jia Li, and they don't seem to like to leave my side.

America announces something in Japanese while standing up. One by one, the remaining nations check their cell phones as they get a text, and they say something too. "Let's go," America says cheerfully to me.

I nod and start following him. "Bye," Zack calls from behind.

I turn and attempt a smile at him. "Bye." And I wave at Jia Li when she does.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I think an hour later, I stand next to Canada as he attempts to teach me how to use a pistol. But I can't concentrate, and I don't remember most of it. All I know is I have six rounds in the bullet-holder-thingy (I forgot what it's called; it starts with a "C", I think...). The most important thing about guns, Canada said, was to always treat them like they're loaded and the safety's off.

"I think I'll keep it 'on'..." I say nervously, gingerly putting the gun in the holster around my waist. I feel so soldier right now. And, no duh, it's because I'm in a Canadian Army uniform. It's just like American Army uniforms, but a Canadian flag where the American flag is. And I have the cap, thing, too.

"Yeah," Canada symphasizes as he puts his in his holster, "I'm not fond of guns, either...I don't think you can go wrong with a hockey stick for a weapon..."

I smile and stick my hands in my pockets, my breath fogging around my face. All around, there are soldiers. A small army made up of five— six— different countries. I say six because technically, Canada and I make up the great Canadian army for right now. Canada and I are in between a fraction of the British and Russian armies. England occasionally glances over to fret for my well-being. I'm honestly surprised I haven't shot anyone—or myself, for that matter—in the foot yet.

We're in front of Germany's mansion. It's nighttime, but it's obvious we're here. England said twenty-five people or so from each army, so, twenty-five times five is one hundred twenty-five people. Not bad for an impromptu battle. Soldiers on either sides are chattering in English and Russian, occasionally glancing at me, or up at the mansion. I know I'm just a kid and shouldn't be in a place where the big-bad adults play, but at least I know not to stare (I'm talking to you, big dude on the Russian side who's gawking at me).

I look up. Movement a few stories up catches my attention, and I see a faint outline of messy blonde hair.

Josh.

I pull of my cap while allowing a grin on my face, and I wave my arm in the air in a greeting. Vaguely, I see Josh lift a hand in a small, disbelieving wave. From beside him, someone with short gray hair—I'm assuming this is Russia's lookalike, who's name I don't remember— puts a finger against the window. I turn in that direction, and there's Russia himself, approaching the door, his pipe out and in his hands. I see the purple aura around him, and it's no wonder the soldiers– even his own—don't follow him as he beats the crap out of the door. When the barrier lies in splinters around the snow, the soldiers swarm the door.

I feel Canada's hand on my shoulder, worriedly keeping me close to him, even though I don't even try to follow the soldiers. I glance back up at the window, but Josh is gone. But in the window where he was, Germany's there. He scowls down at the scene—at least, I think he does. I can't see facial expressions very well when he's that high up—, and he yanks the curtains closed.

I tug on Canada's sleeve. "They won't be there."

"Who won't be where?"

"Josh and the others, and possibly the Axis. They're going in the front. It's more likely they'll sneak out the back," I inform him.

Canada frowns, and he says something in Japanese in a walkie-talkie. He doesn't get a response, and his frown deepens. "Well... Let's go check it out."

I nod and follow as he goes around the building. Here's a better way to describe it— let's pretend the front of the mansion is facing North (I have no idea if it does or not, but humor me). We're walking on the West side, then. I notice Canada left his crutches somewhere, and he only walks with a slight limp. I find that weird, because it was broken less than twelve hours ago.

Just before we would turn to the South side, there's a small commotion. We're still a good football-field away, but there's no mistaking the sharp _crack_ as something runs into something hard. Canada pulls me behind a small-ish tree that's on the side of the house right as someone falls over into view. It's just their head, but I can recognize it.

It's Josh.

I suck in a shaky gasp when I realize there's red staining the white snow around him, and then there's someone dragging him away.

I forget how to think. All I know is Josh is right there, he's hurt, and he needs my help, so I take off running without a single warning.

"Issa!" Canada protests, reaching out to grab my shoulder. I sidestep his hand and run. Through the midst of all the panic, my mind reminds me that I'm armed, so I fumble with the gun. I trail it on the back of the closest soldier and, without thinking, pull the trigger. But nothing happens. I remember that I left the safety on, and I toss the pistol to the side and continue running.

The soldier pushes Josh into a black van with tinted windows, and he jumps in, too. I don't think they even see me coming. Anyway, the driver steps on the gas and the van shoots away. I was maybe fifty feet away, but it easily outdistances me. I can only make one thought: _Stop! Don't leave! Stop!_ but I can't make my mouth work. I stretch out a hand, reaching for my friend, but he's gone.

In the back window, someone turns. It's the Russia lookalike. He has a gag over his mouth. his amethyst eyes meet my turquoise, and he nods at me, sending a silent message: _I'll keep him safe._

Then the van's gone. I stop running, and I just stand there, watching the red tail lights get smaller and smaller until they disappear.

I don't realize I'm crying until Canada catches up with me. I avoid eye contact, but I force myself to choke out, "I'm sorry."

"That— that was—" He's breathing too heavily to answer, but I know what he's going to say.

"Impulsive. Reckless. Stupid. Take your pick." I run my fingers under my eyes, and they sting from the mixture of the liquid and the cold weather.

Canada does then does the thing that surprises me the most: he hugs me. I pause for a few seconds before accepting the embrace and crying onto his shoulder. He smells like maple. I allow myself five—six— deep breaths before pulling myself together.

"Come on, then," he murmurs softly, keeping a comforting arm around my shoulder and guiding me back around the front.

America runs up. "Canada— what—" he pants. Then he stops. "You really tried to get them out by yourself?!" he asks almost shrilly.

Throat too tight for words, I nod, still staring intently at my shoes.

"That was so _stupid_!" he cries. "What were you _thinking?!"_

"I wasn't," I reply.

"Well _that's_ obvious!" he fumes. "I can't believe that—"

"I did one stupid thing, in comparison to the millions of stupid things _you've_ done?!" I exclaim. I'm not sure who's the most alarmed by my intensity. "I know _everything_ about you, America. You'd do the same thing in my shoes. I already know that was stupid of me, so just cut me some slack!"

America seems stunned. Then his unexplainable rage comes back. "Oh, you know _everything_ about me, huh?"

"You love horror movies, but they terrify you. You often call Japan to watch them with you. One time he gave you gory video games to play so you wouldn't be so scared, and you said something like, 'I can do this, because games are about death and winning, and I'm America!'" I pause and let him take that in. "You're terrible at reading the atmosphere, just like Italy. You're friends with Tony the alien and a whale. When you made friends with the whale, England found you and asked something about you not having enough friends, so you resort to making friends with whales, and then he asked to be your friend. You said no and ran away laughing. One time you guilted Japan into going to your Christmas party. I know everything about you." I pause again, this time because my voice shakes. "And you didn't even know I was missing until England told you."

He's at a loss for words. "I— I knew you were missing," he protests.

"Could have fooled me," I answer coldly.

"Well—I know things about you, too!" he retorts indignantly. "You're Isabella Nicole Pryce, daughter of Michelle and David Pryce, born on July first, nineteen-ninety-eight in Washington D.C., seven pounds, twenty-one inches."

"But anyone can figure that out; just look at my birth certificate!" I cry back. I made a little choking noise when he said my dad's name, and Canada gently squeezes my shoulder. "You don't know anything about _me_! You—you don't know why I'm like what I'm like, or what I've been through! I bet you don't even know how he died!"

I don't know how exactly this turned into a competition of who-knows-what, but Canada interjects almost firmly, "That's enough. _Both_ of you."

He just glares at me. I don't like this; he's way too out of character for my liking, and my little outbursts didn't help. "I'm sorry," I finally tell him. "I wasn't thinking again."

He sighs, and then, "I'm sorry too. I'm, y'know, inconsolable when I'm angry."

England runs up, and he's also panting. "Canada, Issa, America— you're all all right?"

I nod, and there's a mutter of consent from both of the nations.

"Issa—you didn't—"

I nod again.

"Well, that was very—!"

"If it's all the same to you," I murmur, "I've already gotten the lecture."

"...All right, then..." he says, and then he hugs me. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Glad I'm safe. Huh. I can't help but be indignant, despite the attempt at connection. Why is he glad I'm safe? Because that would mean paperwork for him? What am I, to all of them? Am I just a minor speed-bump in their everyday lives? It's not like I'm the most important human they've met, or ever will meet. Quite the opposite, actually.

"...We should get back..." England suggests. "The Axis is nowhere to be found."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

And here we are. Back in London. Zack was playing go fish with Jane (she's winning).

When we walked in, Zack jumped up. "How'd it go?"

I shot him a sad glance, and he let his smile drop. "...That bad, huh?"

Jia Li notices, and she gives me a hug. I bury my face in her shoulder, hiding from today. There's a second person hugging me, and I realize it's Zack, which surprises me. I shift to let him in the embrace, but still keep my face on Jia Li's shoulder. Behind us, the rest of the Allies are talking seriously in Japanese. I think England let Jane go home, because when I emerge from the hug, she's gone.

England asks me, "Do you want to go home?"

I nod at him, still avoiding eye contact.

"All right. Let's go now."

I nod again. Zack gives me another hug before I can do anything else, and he whispers in my ear, "Bye."

"Bye, Zack," I reply.

China explained what was said to Jia Li, and she looks sad as she hugs me again. I pet her hair wordlessly for a few seconds before pulling away.

It's Canada who hugs me next, and I don't complain. Then, surprisingly, considering our big fight, America. He whispers in my ear, "I actually do know how he died. I'm sorry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"...It's that one," I say to England, pointing at my house. He pulls into the driveway.

"Do you think your mom is awake?" he asks.

"I dunno. I know the garage password, so I can get in through there." I walk over to the little key code on the wall of the garage and enter the five-number password, and the door rumbles up. Almost immediately after the door raises high enough to admit a person in, the door to the inside of the house opens, and there stands Mom. She lets out a strangles cry of shock, and runs toward me. I embrace her, and she starts petting my hair and murmuring, "Oh, thank you, God, thank you...!" She backs up to look at me, and she fires off a round of questions so fast I don't have time to answer one before she starts another. "Are you hurt!? Why is your hair short!? What happened to your face?! What happened?! Where have you been?!"

I smile at her. "I'm okay."

Mom stops and looks at England. Before she can hysterically interrogate him, he says, "My name is Arthur Kirkland."

"Thank you," she exclaims. "Thank you for bringing her home."

"It's no problem, really," he says as Mom wrings his hand. My dog, Oz, who I didn't notice come out, dances around us, trying to jump up and lick our faces, even though he doesn't ever reach our knees.

"Please—" she says, "Come in." He doesn't protest as Mom nearly drags him in the house. She asks, "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Tea?"

"No thank you," he responds politely.

A door opens down the hall. "Mom...?" asks a sleepy-sounding voice. "What's happening?"

"Renae!" I cry, rushing to her. I'm hugging her before she knows what hits her.

"Issa...!" she says, hugging me as tightly as her frail body will allow. I stroke her hair over and over, trying not to cry in front of England. "You're okay!" Renae sobs into my shoulder.

"Shh, it's okay," I whisper. "It's okay, it's okay..."

England seems to be explaining to Mom, but not using the nation thing. He only says, "I'm not sure why they took her. My acquaintances and I have come to the conclusion she won't be in danger again, however."

"How did you find her?" Mom asks.

"She found me, really," he answers lightly. "Ran me over, too." He catches my eye in a teasing manner.

"Who were those men?"

"Sadly, they're old colleagues of mine. No doubt the police will have them in custody soon, don't you worry." I know this part is a big fat lie, because they're countries, and they can easily escape prison, no matter what the sentence.

A few more questions and answers, and then England announces, "I really should go. Duty calls, you know."

Mom shakes his hand again, and I mumble, "Bye, Arthur. Thanks for everything."

"You take care of yourself now, am I clear?"

I nod, and he smiles and hugs me. And then he leaves.

I can't believe it's really over. All that happening, and it's over. Just like that.

But I know it won't be over forever. I know what's coming— flashbacks, daydreams, and nightmares.

Mom sits me on the couch, and Renae sits on my lap. Mom sits next to me, and I lean my head on her shoulder. Oz curls himself around our ankles like a cat.

"So, what happened?" Mom asks, stroking my hair.

"I was in class," I start. "Three guys walked in, and they had a gun. They only spoke Japanese. They made me and Josh leave. I guess I was causing too much fuss, so they knocked me out as soon as they got us in their car. When I woke up, I was chained to a bed. They cut my hair. Later, they brought in a girl from China. Her name's Jia Li. She didn't speak English. Anyway, I think they would've cut her hair, and I tried to stop them, but one guy lost his patience and did this." I run my finger over my cut. "Anyway, he seemed to realize what he did, and he gave me stitches. But he was still going to cut Jia Li's hair. I decided if I couldn't stop them, I'd be there to comfort her, so I made him let me come. Their backs were turned, and the doors were unlocked, so we escaped. We ran into Arthur— literally—right outside. He helped us get away." I hesitate. If England didn't want them to know about the nations, I'm not going to tell them. So, I guess that makes the whole army thing kind of irrelevant.

"...and he found one of his friends who spoke Chinese, and Jia Li stayed with him. And then he brought me home," I conclude. It's a very vague summary, but I don't have the energy to make a better one.

"They didn't— y'know—_touch_ you, did they?" Mom asks worriedly.

I shake my head.

"Did you hear from Josh at all?"

"Yeah. His room was right next to mine, and they weren't soundproof walls," I explain. "I wasn't planning on escaping without him— it just happened."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Renae says.

"Me too," from Mom.

"Me three," I respond. "I just wish I could've helped him."

"You got Jia Li out of there, didn't you?" Mom says.

I nod, and a silence passes. "Listen, I'm gonna go to bed. Long day, y'know."

"By all means," Mom says. She hugs me. "Goodnight. I love you."

"Night."

Renae asks, "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Of course, Doodlebug," I respond.

We walk hand-in-hand to my room, all numb with joy and shock. I crawl into bed without changing into pajamas, and Renae curls up next to me. Mom tucks us both in, and she excuses herself to go make a few phone calls.

"I'm so happy you're safe," Renae whispers.

I hold her hand. "Thanks. I'm happy to be home."

I lie on my back, my baby sister curled up and tucked safely under my arm. I keep one hand on her shoulder, like she was the one who was kidnapped and not me, and if I didn't, someone would take her away from me. I love her so much.

I stare up at the ceiling, even though I can't see it through the darkness. I wonder what's going to happen now. I'm kind of afraid to go back to school; people will be giving me too much attention. Positive or negative attention...I'm not sure.

I feel my eyes slowly start to close, and I drift off into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Somehow, the gun isn't what's bothering me the most at the moment. It's being this close to an unfamiliar person. The back of my head is pressed against his chest, which rises and falls steadily. He's really tall; I only reach up to his shoulder, and I'm one of the tallest freshman in the school at 5'8". His hand is on my shoulder, squeezing it continually, keeping me from making a run for it. I don't like being this close to a kidnapper and possible murderer. I don't like being this close to anyone outside my family, really._

_ Finally, I go limp, shutting my eyes and breathing shakily. I let my hair fall over my face, providing a thin curtain between myself and the Axis. _Calm down. Don't cry. Be brave,_ I think. I repeat that over and over in my head like a mantra, but it's not holding much effect. Behind me, the Japan and the Germany are conversing in Japanese, and I don't understand anything._

_ "_Oi!_" Ludwig shouts at me. He grabs my shoulder and makes me face him. He starts scolding me loudly in a mixture of Japanese and German. I clench my eyes shut and pummel his arm, occasionally yelling, "_Iie!_" at him. _

"Arigato gozaimasu."_ I stand up gratefully and walk a few feet away. I don't like his lack of personal space much. I don't feel...threatened, per se. More like intimidated. I know he's not going to hurt me. In fact, he seems opposed to what the Axis has done. But he's not doing anything about it, and I still don't trust him very much. A lot more than the other Axis, but still not much._

_ Jia Li changes into China's clothes in the bathroom, and I'm engulfed in my thoughts. She's here now; she's obviously the China lookalike. I want to help her as much as I can. Forget about me__—__I don't care about me. Jia Li needs my help, and I'm going to make sure she gets out of here in one piece._

_ Sing? For someone I hardly know, someone who doesn't speak my language? Well, I did it for Jia Li, so I can do it for Dimah... But what song? I decide on the only song that I know that has any Russian words at all in it: Russia's character song, Winter. "_Da svedanya, ima wa made. Ny ponemayu. Da svedanya, yami no kana te he. Saizan no seijaku he izanau you ni saiteiru hana yo! Utai tamae!"

_I let out an involuntary cry of pain and shock as I topple to the ground, my cheek throbbing in pain. When I feel it, my hand comes away red and sticky; blood. Jia Li screams once, and Josh pounds on the wall, yelling my name. I look up at Germany in anger, but I bite my tongue to prevent from screaming at him. Shakily, I get to my feet and resume the defensive stance. I can feel my blood dripping down my face and onto my neck. "Go. Away," I order, pleased to hear my voice not shake. The blade in Germany's hand trembles, and he stands still. Then, slowly, he reaches out to wipe blood from my face. _

_ Another awkward silence happens. I fiddle with my seatbelt. My mind starts to wander, and my thoughts set on Josh. Is he okay? Did the Axis hurt him for our escape to teach him a lesson? I shudder at the thought._

_ I _hate_ lying. I just feel so untrustworthy. And poor Josie'll be so heartbroken when her newfound "Friend" takes away her twin. I mean, they're obviously close; all the pictures in her room have him in them. At least, I'm assuming that's Zack; he looks just like Josie, and America, for that matter. Minus Nantucket, but other than that, they're the same. _

_ I nod and stare out the window at all the snow. It's maybe seven in the evening, but it's winter, so it's dark already. The orange streetlights are on, illuminating the road. My gaze travels down to my hands. I can see a large bruise forming on my wrist from where Germany was holding it. I rub the tender area, wanting nothing more than to forget that, forget this, forget everything. I just want everything to be normal again. Is that too much to ask for?_

_ I forget how to think. All I know is Josh is right there, he's hurt, and he needs my help, so I take off running without a single warning. _

"...Issa...?" Someone's shaking my shoulder. "Wake up..."

"...What?!" I gasp, bolting upright.

"You were having a nightmare..." Renae explains.

Oh. I can believe that; I'm panting like I just ran a mile, and I'm shaking even though it's warm in here. "...I'm okay," I tell Renae, lying back down. "Just a nightmare."

_Just a nightmare,_ I repeat in my head. _Just a stupid nightmare._

XXXXXXXXXXX

When I wake up, it's seven-fifteen in the morning. Renae is still asleep, and I carefully inch out of bed so I don't wake her. I grab some clothes and a towel, and I make a beeline for the bathroom. I feel disgusting; my hair gets greasy really easily, and I haven't showered in two days.

I make the water really hot. It helps wake me up.

Anyway, once I'm done, I towel-dry myself and dress in the clothes—a pair of jeans, a dark grey camisole, and a red and blue checkered over shirt. I enter my room again, and I reach for my maple leaf necklace, but I stop.

_I reach up with my other hand to grasp my pendant, but it's not there. I fumble around my neck for a minute before concluding that it really is gone. "Aw," I mumble, more to myself than anyone else. _

_Suddenly, there's a tapping at the window. "What is Prussia's stupid bird doing here?" England asks to himself, striding over to open the glass. Once the window is open, Gilbird flies in and lands on my head. _

_"Well, hello to you too..." I mutter, scooping up the canary. He peeps, and my necklace falls out of his beak. He chirps again, nuzzles my thumb, and flies out the window again. _

_"...Well that was odd," England sums up. "What is that?"_

_"My necklace..." I respond, examining it for a few seconds before holding it out to the Brit. "I must've lost it...It falls off so easily..." _

_England observes it closely, and then uses something he drew from his pocket to scan the pendant and chain. "Making sure they didn't do anything to it," he mutters to me in explanation. After a few minutes he dubs it clean and passes it back to me. _

_"Oh, here! Lemme put it on you!" America sings coming closer. _

_"Ah__—__no thanks; I got it," I say quickly, taking a defensive step back. I run into the couch where Canada lies, and I jump forward, right into China. "Sorry, gomenesai."_

_"You really don't need to be so polite to him," England whispers to me, his green eyes sparkling with jovial humor. _

_I didn't know England had a sense of humor. Huh. _

I really hate how I flashback like that every time something reminds me of a certain event. It's annoying. I don't want it to happen again, so I leave the necklace there and put on a different one- a gold one with a treble clef pendant.

I wander upstairs. "Hi, Mommy," I greet my mom. She turns from her spot at the table.

"Hey, baby," she says, smiling. "I made pancakes."

"Great," I respond, "I'm starving."

I put some pancakes on a plate and drown them in maple syrup. I stop again-

_Canada does then does the thing that surprises me the most: he hugs me. I pause for a few seconds before accepting the embrace and crying onto his shoulder. He smells like maple. I allow myself five__—__six__—__deep breaths before pulling myself together. _

"Hey—Issa, what's wrong?" Mom asks.

I realize I had frozen where I was, and it takes a few seconds to remember I'm here and not there. "Nothing. I'm just cold," I lie.

"Oh, okay," she says. "Your coat and other school things are on the couch over there—I picked them up yesterday."

"Thanks," I respond, trying to make my tone lighthearted.

I eat the pancakes and put my plate in the sink. "So guess what?" Mom asks.

"What?"

"The news want to do a story-thing on you."

I frown. "I don't want a story done on me."

"Why not?"

"I don't like cameras, or people prying into my feelings," I tell her, and my tone sounds so bitter I have to add, "I haven't done anything extraordinary, anyways."

"...All right, then..." Mom says. "But I'm sure you'll have to at least tell the police."

"Yeah, I figured..."

I glance at the clock again. "It's almost time for school. Should I get Renae up?"

"You want to go to school?" Mom asks, surprised. "You don't want to, like, rest or anything?"

I shake my head firmly. "I don't want to dwell on it any longer than I have to."

She nods. "That makes sense... I'll go get Renae up." And she walks towards my room.

I sit down on the counter and bring my knees up to my chest. I actually don't want to go to school. At all. But what I said is true; the first step towards recovering is getting on with your life, putting yourself in familiar places. Even though my familiar isn't very pleasant.

Half an hour later, Mom drops me off at school. "Bye, sweetheart..." she says, and I know she's really worried about me, so I smile at her.

"Bye. I'll be okay," I remind her. "I'll call you if anything comes up."

"All right. See you after school."

I walk into school. A bit nervously, I walk into the cafeteria where we're supposed to wait before the bell rings, and I fiddle with my backpack straps. The upperclassmen who inhabit the first couple of tables closest to the door stop and gawk at me. Maybe I should invest on less obnoxiously loud keychains. I feel a blush on my face as I continue to walk, and I'm all too aware of the open wound on my face and my short hair.

Then— "Issa!" Someone hugs me from behind. "You're okay!"

It's a girl I never really considered to be my friend. She's an acquaintance, but she's never made a bigger attempt to be my friend, and I was always too shy to. Her name's Jinny.

I accept the embrace. "Hi, Jinny."

"Are you okay? What happened here?" She motions to my face.

Is that going to be the first thing people say to me? "It's nothing," I respond lightly, like I get kidnapped and cut all the time.

Suddenly, there's a group of people surrounding me, asking questions so fast I don't have time to answer. I might as well have come back from the dead. I guess this is like that one saying— "They'll only miss you when you're gone." If I was never taken, I wouldn't have people seeming genuinely worried for me. People I've never talked to pat me on the back, say they're glad I'm safe.

A lot of people are asking where Josh is.

Finally, one person yells, "Give her some space, people, sheesh!"

I look gratefully for my savior, but then I shrink back a little. The person who told everyone to give me space is actually my tormentor. He specializes in pushing me down, calling me names, and destroying my books. I'm confused, and a little apprehensive.

"So," he starts, and I notice how his gaze lingers accusingly over my cheek, "you're back."

"Yeah," I respond.

"I was taking bets on how long they'd keep you there. I'm surprised it took two days to realize there's nothing special about you."

I frown at the hurtful comment, but I hold my tongue. There's nothing I can say that will make him leave me alone.

Then, I'm surprised. One girl, one of the more popular girls, scolds him, "That was terrible." And then there's more people standing up for me. I stand there, dumbfounded, but also feeling myself get more and more offended and depressed.

_Why didn't you guys notice this before?_

I duck out of the fray of people and go in the girls' bathroom. I clutch the sides of the sink. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._ I push up my sleeve and drag my sharp, bitten nails up my arm. _Don't. Cry._

The bell rings. I walk up the stairs to my first period class, US history. "Hi, Mr. C.," I mumble as I walk in, "what did I miss?" I say the words like I was only out sick for two days.

He seems stunned at my appearance, but he gives me the worksheets we did. I sit in my seat, open my textbook, and begin working. I ignore everyone and everything, only concentrating on the War of 1812. The rest of the school day passes with nothing more abnormal than people gawking at me, telling me they're happy I'm okay, or asking me to describe what happened. Or asking where Josh is.

Finally, I make it to sixth hour—Physical Science. We're learning about Boyle's and Charles's Law. Because of free seating, a lot more people have clumped around me. I fake a smile and respond to their questions semi-truthfully. But when people start goofing off when they're supposed to be doing their work, I start ignoring people. If they say my name, I glance up and mutter a "Yeah" or a "Sure." The intercom goes off, and I don't listen to it; people get called down to the office all the time here. But the girl next to me pokes me and goes, "That was you."

I jerk out of my work-induced trance and say, "Oh—thanks." And then I walk down to the specified place.

When I get there, I'm genuinely surprised, and then anxious. Something bad must have happened for them to be standing here in my school. I blurt, "What are you doing here?" at America and Canada.

"Hey!" America says cheerfully, and I can tell he's straining his grin. "Don't you remember? I told you we'd be here to pick you up!"

Something is definitely wrong. I play along by going, "Oh. Right, yeah." And then we all walk out to America's silver truck. As soon as we're outside, I demand, "Okay, spill. What happened?"

America takes a deep breath, and right as I think he's going to crack a stupid comment, he makes a choking sound and shakes his head.

I'm stunned—this is the cockiest, most arrogant character in Hetalia. He's strong, and brave, and always just so _happy_. But there's something terribly, terribly wrong for him to just crumble like this. I look at Canada, and he seems just as surprised as I am.

He catches my questioning glance, and he says softly, "It's England. Germany took him."

"But— h—how do you know?"

"Well...England was filming something when it happened..." Canada explains, fumbling with his phone. He taps a few buttons, and then hands it to me.

On the screen, a miniscule England squints at the camera. "Ugh. Is this— working—? Blasted technology…. Ah, right." He back away and looks at a paper in his hand. "So...Alfred suggested I do what he calls video diaries..." he says to the camera. "Although—" he crumples the paper in his hands, "—I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to say. So... I might look at this and laugh in a few years. Or look at this and kill Alfred. Whichever mood I'm in..."

The door behind him is kicked open, and soldiers pour in. England is easily overpowered, even though he managed to land a kick on one guy that should've broken his jaw. The camera is overturned, and we can see sideways that England is dragged out by the soldiers. Right outside, Germany stands. He says something to England in Japanese, and I know enough curse words to know he just responded with several. Germany retaliates by punching him in the face.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers picks up the camera. He turns it this way and that, occasionally poking the lens. Then he shrugs and sets it down. A few seconds later the video ends.

I stand staring at Canada's phone for a few seconds before shakily handing it back to him. "What did he say?"

"Well..." he hesitates, and looks at America. He adverts his gaze. "We should go."

I hesitate before climbing in the back seat. America takes driver, and Canada sits shotgun. "What did he say?" I ask again.

Canada doesn't answer for a while. "Germany... He wants you."

I feel a mixture of horror and disbelief take control of me. "Wh— why?"

He shakes his head sadly. "I don't know. He didn't say."

"So, what—" My voice cracks. "What now?"

"We're gonna keep you safe," America pipes up determinedly. I can see his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and I'm surprised he's holding back enough to not snap the piece of metal like a toothpick.

I nod, trusting them. I'm scared, and I have no one else to turn to. I find it odd that not too long ago I was not caring for myself, wishing everyone else would stop pretending to care, and now, I'm afraid for my life. Funny, the way things work.

Minutes later, we pull up into America's mansion. As soon as he gets in, America flops face-first on the couch. I hover uncertainly by the door, not wanting to intrude. Canada goes, "Oh," really softly, and he explains, "I have a theory as to why Germany wants you."

"Okay..." I say, holding the syllable out for several beats.

"Do you know your blood type?"

"Uh, no..."

He makes a face. Like, when you push your tongue against your cheek. It's a thinking face. "I'll need to do a blood test on you."

"Oh— all right. Sure," I respond. I hate needles of all shapes and sizes.

"Al, where do you keep your blood test-thingies?" America points down the hall without looking up or saying anything, and my concern for him grows. "Okay. Thanks," Canada calls to him as he goes in that direction. He adds to me, "Sit tight. I'll be right back."

I nod wordlessly as he disappears down the hall. A few seconds pass, and I hear a hardly audible sniffle from America.

My heart nearly breaks. England's and America's relationship is so sweet, even though they both deny caring for each other.

Tentatively, I walk closer and sit next to America. "...It's gonna be okay..." I tell him softly, rubbing his back a little.

America sits up, and he hugs me tightly and cries on my shoulder. I do my best to comfort him. I'm honestly still weirded out from his OOC-ness, but I guess nobody can be strong _all_ the time.

After what seems like forever, he stops and rubs at his face. "I was sweating through my eyes," he tells me, almost in a joking manner.

"Of course you were," I respond.

Canada comes back with a metal and plastic thingamabobber in his hands. "Okay," he says, "give me your hand." I try to keep from either bursting into hysterical laughter or grimacing as I hold out my hand. Canada pricks my finger with a needle, and a drop of blood appears on the tip. I rub the drop on the metal thingy, and Canada nods, appreciative of my lack of spazzing out.

I'm screaming in my mind. Sometimes, little things like that hurt the worst.

I'm not speaking for anyone who's had a limb amputated, though. I bet they'd gladly take a finger prick to having an arm or a leg lopped off.

Canada frowns, tapping the screen a few times. "C'mon..." A few seconds pass. "Your blood's healthy..." he reports. "And it's..." He stops and stares at the screen, a mixture of panic and disbelief on his face. When he speaks, his voice is slightly strained and jumpy. "America—!"

"Wh—what is it?" I ask, inching away a little.

America takes the thingy-thing from Canada, and he too blanches. "That's—that's—not good. That's not good."

"I, uh, didn't do it," I throw in.

"No, it's not you," America says. "It's your blood type."

"What is it?"

"U-negative."

"But—" I exhale sharply, and it almost sounds like a laugh. "That's not possible—! I—is it?"

"It's rare," Canada agrees, looking concerned. "There's an old legend among nations...If a human has a U-negative blood type, if you mix that type of blood with the blood of a nation... It makes a bomb powerful enough to kill an entire nation."

I think back on England's words: "_It takes a lot more than cutting off heads to do out with a nation."_ And, that's a way to kill a nation. Germany wants to wipe out an entire—freaking—nation. "So—I'm the wild card," I sum up.

He nods solemnly.

"Oh, that's great. Just perfect." I stand up and stalk over to a window. "I _explode_. That's _wonderful_."

"It's not your fault," America tells me.

"I know that," I respond. "But what now? Will he just keep trying to get my blood until I'm dead?"

"I— I don't know," Canada responds. "We're going to keep you safe, though, don't worry."

"I'm not worried about me," I respond harshly. I stop and continue in a calmer voice, "I'm worried he'll kill all those people. Because if you die, your country dies too, right? That's why you're so hard to kill."

"That's right," America agrees. "But why don't you care about yourself?"

I scowl out the window at the flowers in the flowerbed. "I'm one person in trillions. The odds of me doing something unforgettable are extremely low."

"They're at zero if you don't try."

"I know. I don't not try." I take a deep breath. "I just—don't want to talk about it, okay?"

They back down. "Okay," Canada murmurs.

Zack walks in. "Hey, Al, do you know—" He stops as he sees me. "Oh. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh. My blood explodes. And if it explodes, it kills a nation," I say in compendium. "So, if Germany gets my blood, he can take out the entire world."

"Oh. Just that," he says bluntly. "Well, that sucks."

"No kidding."

"You need a hug?" he asks, raising his arms halfway.

"Sure," I mumble. I was only going to make it a quick hug, but he holds on to me, which I find weird. "Uh—..."

"You smell good," he protests. I feel him lift up a strand of my hair and smell it.

I give a small laugh and shove him away. "Creeper," I mutter in his direction.

"No, you really do! What shampoo do you use?"

"Uh—Almond and shay butter?"

"I should make Josie use that stuff! It's like—awesome."

"Okay...?" I half-laugh again. "Not weird at all..."

"I'm just sayin'!" he exclaims, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Well, you say some pretty weird things..." I muse in his general direction. That was weird—he just made me do a complete mood-180. I was just kind of mopey, and now I'm almost laughing. Well, I guess that wouldn't be a 180. I just did a mood-90. Sounds kinda weird, but that's more correct.

Zack crosses his arms and exaggerates a pouty-face. "That was mean," he says in a childish voice. "Take it back."

"Hm...No."

He starts tickling me, occasionally yelling at me, "I'm not weird! Take it back!"

At the invasion of my personal space (Pfft, I sound like Japan), I gasp and then start flailing. I don't take being tickled very well. I think I end up slapping him in the face. He doesn't seem to care, so I start tickling him back.

Immediately, he squirms away from me. "Ahah, stop it, that tickles!"

"You started it!" I protest.

"So?"

"So it was self-defense." I stick my tongue out at him. He does the same.

Suddenly, I remember my promise to call Mom if something happens. "Can I use your phone?" I ask America, suddenly sober. He notices my mood change, and he nods, pointing out the direction of the landline. I nod in thanks and dial my home phone number.

Mom picks up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mom. It's Issa."

"Issa?" she repeats, suddenly sounding worried. "What's wrong?"

"Well...Something came up..." I pause before delivering the blow. "I don't think I'll be home for a while..."

"Wh—why?!" she asks.

"The guy who brought me home yesterday, Arthur Kirkland, he was taken by the same guy who took me. I'm at one of his friend's house right now. Arthur was making a video diary when he was taken, and the guy was asking where I was..." I tell her. She is silent for a few minutes, and I hear her breath turn ragged. I almost start crying as well as I continue. "Listen to me. This is going to hard, but you have to do it. Okay?" I wait for her shaky consent, and tell her, "I need you to forget about me."

"_What?!_" she exclaims. "No, _no!_ I—"

"Mom, listen to me!" I order over her protests. "What if he traces me back to you? I need you to just make the trail harder to find. Stop talking about me, take all the pictures of me down, and always keep my door closed. C—can you do that for me?"

"_No._ Absolutely _not_."

"Mom, don't you think this's hard for me too?!" I cry out. "I just want you and Renae to be safe! I'm safe here, but you're not! Please, _please_, just forget about me."

"...All right..." she chokes out. I can tell she's crying.

"I have to go," I tell her, because this is upsetting me and I really don't want to cry.

"No—please, Issa! Don't you dare hang up this phone!"

I force out a strangled, "I love you," before disconnecting the call. When I turn around again, I'm alone. I send out a grateful telepathatic message to them for giving me some privacy.

I lean against the wall and cover my mouth with my hand. I can feel my lips curling back in my "I'm about to cry" face. My body starts shaking from compressed sobs, and I feel my face get wet with tears. Slowly, I slide down the wall until my knees are pressing my elbow against my chest.

I know the others are somewhere near. They're probably looking into here with pity. I don't care right now. As long as they keep their distances, I'll be fine.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the day is uneventful. No one questioned me about my little episode, which I'm thankful for. America, Zack, and surprisingly Canada gave up on trying to teach me how to play Call of Duty. Canada is _boss_ at that game. I just don't understand it. It's fun to watch, but I just can't do it. I laugh as Canada's character takes out both America's and Zack's characters in one spray of bullets. They both whine and claim he cheated somehow. He reminds them that it's a video game, and therefore you can't cheat. Unless you know cheat codes. Which I'm pretty sure Canada's memorized.

"You suck," Zack mutters playfully at him. He only raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, and then continues sniping other characters.

I yawn from my place on the couch. Mr. Kumajirou, who's sitting on my lap, yawns too. Canada notices, then he does it too. Then Zack, and then America.

"Yawns are contagious," I inform them sweetly, like they don't already know that.

"It's only ten-thirty!" America protests. "And besides, we all still need to watch this!" He holds up a DVD of _Paranormal Activity._

Canada shrugs at it; I think he'll stay up just because he likes to be included. Zack nods eagerly, but I go, "No thanks."

"Aww, why?" he whines.

"I just can't do horror," I protest. "I have, like, this overactive imagination, and anything that scares me will give me nightmares for weeks on end."

He pouts, but he goes, "Fine then. I'll show you your room."

I nod and follow him. "By the way," I say as we're walking down the hallway, "don't come crying to me at three in morning because the movie scared you."

"I won't!" he protests indignantly. "I'm the hero, and heroes aren't afraid of anything!"

"Whatever you say." I shake my head and smile to myself.

"You can have that one," America tells me, pointing at a closed door.

"Thanks," I tell him. "For everything."

"Aw, no prob," he dismisses, ruffling my hair. "Nighty night, scardy-pants."

"We'll see who the scardy-pants is later," I say, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Good night."

I walk in the room. It's not American flag patterned, which I like. Two walls are tan and two are red. The bed is in the corner of the red walls. On one of the tan walls, there's an electric keyboard, and on the other tan one, there's a red dresser. The bedspread is orange, red, and yellow, and its pattern is acorns and leaves and stuff like that. I really like it; it reminds me of my room.

Anyway, I'm worn out completely, and I flop on the bed. Without doing more than taking off my shoes, I slip under the covers fully clothed and fall asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_England stands chained against the wall. A bruise is forming on his jaw, and it's obvious he's exhausted: his eyelids droop slightly over his emerald eyes, and he has purple bags forming under them. The way he is chained is effective for long-term torture: he has to keep standing, because the chains don't reach the ground, and if he tried to sit, all of the stress would go to his arms and wrists. _

_From behind wherever I am standing, a door opens. I can't turn around, or shut my eyes or anything. I have to watch. _

_England looks up with a tired half-scowl on his face. When he sees the person, he mutters something unintelligible. There's a sound like something being picked up. England's eyes widen, but he sets his jaw and looks determined. A few seconds of silence, and then__—_

_CRACK._

_The person behind me sends a whip against England's chest. For half a second that seems like forever to me, nothing happens but the light green shirt he's wearing getting ripped. Then, scarlet blood forces its way out of the gash. England makes a little gasping noise, but nothing more than that. Before I can think, the person cracks the whip again, and then again, and then again still. Each time, England lets a small noise escape him. They seem measured at first, controlled, but they're getting louder. _

_I want to scream, to yell at the person to stop, to run out and put myself in front of the chained nation, but I can't. I can't move. I can't talk. I can't even breathe. _

_"You know where she is," the person says accusingly. I already know who "She" is. _

_"I do indeed," England responds impishly, wincing. He's acting like a stereotypical teenage boy: sullen, sarcastic, and avoiding the question. _

_The person lets the whip fly again. This time, the little rock on the end digs across his stomach. "Where is she?" _

_"I'm not telling you!" England yells, in obvious pain. _

_The person behind me is silent, and he seems to be picking something else up. His footsteps come closer, and then he's in view. _

_It's Germany. _

_Germany has a syringe in his hand, and it's full of a glutinous purple liquid. He holds it up for England to see. "This," he says smoothly, "is chloromonoxide. Insanity potion."_

_His victim's expression doesn't change, but I see a flicker of fear in his eyes__—__and evidentially, so does he. "So what?" England asks, not lacking in the teenage attitude. _

_"So, I'm going to use it on you unless you tell me where she is." _

_England pretends to think about it. "Hm..." he muses. "If I go insane, you won't have a reliable source." _

_"Oh, don't worry about my sources, England," Germany says maliciously. "You'll crack before the full insanity takes place. And when you do, the antidote is right here." He adds with an evil smirk, "Any time the pain gets too unbearable, just tell me where the girl is." And in one fluid motion, he brings the point of the syringe into England's neck, pressing the plunger with his thumb. _

_England remains silent, but he shakes his head, trying to get the psychotic German away from him. Germany leaves the room, and he locks the door after exiting. _

_I can see England's muscles going. He's stiffening, but because of his own will or whatever that just was, I don't know. One small body part after another, he begins twitching: first one finger, then several, then all of them. Then his feet, which cause shaking to the rest of him. The worst part is his moaning. It was only a few whimpers every now and then at first, but they grew to nearly screams. _

_I think I'm screaming too, which I don't get. I couldn't hear myself at all before. I'm also shaking. Why?_

"Issa! It's okay! You're just having a nightmare!" someone whisper-yells in my ear. Their hands are on my shoulders, roughly shaking me awake.

I jerk my eyes open and simultaneously draw in a shaky gasp. "N-no!" I shout without thinking.

"Hey, it's okay, you're okay!" the person tells me again.

"Wh—who—?" I manage.

"It's only me," America says.

"Am—America..." I echo slowly. Something wet falls on my hand. Bemusedly, I raise a trembling hand to my face and find it wet with tears. Sheepishly, I rub my cheek against my shoulder. _Just another stupid nightmare..._ I tell myself. But...Something about that...it wasn't just a stupid nightmare...This one was different. I can't quite place my finger on it, though...

I really hope this is just a ruse brought on by my evil little subconscious. There's no way that actually happened to England. He's fine.

"What's wrong?" Through the dull light of a night-light I didn't see earlier, America sits next to me.

"I—I dreamed England..." I tell him. "G-Germany was t-torturing him."

"...Why would you dream something like that?!" America asks, his voice a little bit shrill.

"I didn't dream it on purpose!" I object.

"W—well, it was just a dream. R-right?"

I nod, even though I don't really believe it. I wait for a few seconds for America to say goodnight and leave, but he shifts awkwardly.

"Uhm..." he says.

I have to hold back a laugh. "You're afraid of the movie, aren't you?" I guess.

"No!" America says indignantly. "I—I was just— My hero senses were sensing and stuff that you were having a nightmare, so I'm here to save you."

"Oh, okay," I laugh. I think I know what he's going to say next.

"So, I'm going to sleep right here with you to keep you safe. 'Cause, y'know, I'm the hero and I can protect you from stuff like that," he says while lying down on top of the covers.

"Don't try anything," I mutter while lying down again. I know he won't, though. He's just scared, but he's too prideful to admit it. He wouldn't do anything that would make me send him away. Even so, I position myself on my side, facing away from him.

In the span of a few minutes, America falls asleep. I'm almost about to drift off when his arms—which are very strong (and I mean that in a help-he's-crushing-me kind of way)—wrap around my stomach and pull me closer to him. In sync to that, he starts snoring. Like a freaking _chainsaw._

_Great,_ I think sarcastically as America continues to spoon me and snore in my ear, _This is going to be a very long night..._

**Hi guys chloromonoxide isn't real. Art and Soul made up the fancy name, but I made it. It's supposed to hurt you so much, you go insane. That's why I called it Insanity Potion- because if you get it injected in you, you go insane without the antidote. Kaythanksbye**


	11. Old and New Scars

**I should totes be working on a new chapter of this but Im just dead so here you go**

**I DON'T OWN BANDAIDS **

Dimah's POV

It's been about a day since we got here. I'm still not positive it's Spain—for all I know, we could be in Italy—and I'm still wondering about what Josh said. "_Spain._" Like, the country. It doesn't make any sense at all.

I'm pretty sure I've pondered all I can about that, and still, I only succeed in making my head hurt more. The only logical explanation I can conclude is that Antonio, our odd, easy-going semi-captor, _is_ Spain, which, of course, is impossible. There's no way a human can be a country. I think that if a person was a country, they'd have a human body, but a face in the shape of the country in question.

So I'm basically giving myself a migraine by over-thinking about this.

I honestly don't know why I'm so intent on figuring this out. Maybe it was the flicker of alarm that passed though Antonio's eyes when Josh told him in all seriousness to "_Go away, Spain._" I don't know what the first part of what he said is, but I'm certain he said Spain.

If I saw correctly, Antonio did look rather frightened when the American spoke those words. It was a "How on earth did you know?!" kind of expression, which I am all too familiar with. I also noticed how the Spaniard refused to break his happy-go-lucky character, tilting his head curiously to the side and putting on a puzzled smile.

Now I sit in a chair beside where Josh lies and Harvey fidgets in a different seat. After Antonio left (he even left the door open), Josh silently admitted how badly his head hurt and lay down, and in a matter of minutes he was out. Harvey has tried several hundred different positions on his chair, and apparently none of them are comfortable. As for myself, I've been in the same position for nearly the whole time—hunched forward, one hand cupping my face, the other draped across my knees.

Why doesn't Antonio care if we get up and walk out? I certainly feel as if I've been issued a challenge, and I glance over at the open door every few minutes. There's a nagging feeling inside me, and I soon recognize it as boredom. I want to go explore this place, leave if I can. But things are tethering me this room, and I'm all too familiar with them both.

The first is fear. Whether I like it or not, I'm afraid of Antonio and whoever the tomato-throwing guy is. I don't like them. They both seem like weaklings, but who can judge by outward appearance? I am accustomed with fear because I feel it every day of my life. It's not like having a small phobia; if I am not on guard at all times, the agony is unbearable.

The second I feel rarely; only with my sisters: brotherly overprotectiveness. I can't help but feel like I should be here to keep Harvey and Josh safe. Harvey is obviously not a fighter. I sense a little bit of fight in Josh, but he's incapacitated at the moment. Both of them are vulnerable. I feel like I should be here to protect them.

Again, my eyes flicker over to the door. To leave, or not to leave. Curiosity battles all other emotions fiercely, and in the end it is triumphant.

I stand up and wander over to the open door. Hesitantly, I peek out, and I am met by an empty corridor. It's safe for now.

I glance back at Harvey and Josh. Josh is still asleep. Harvey looks up at me, half-curious, half-hysterical. I lock eyes with him and give him a reassuring nod: I _will_ come back. He nods at me, and I leave the room.

I suddenly remember from before. Why did I not pay more attention to the soldier girl? The figure in camouflage that chased our van before falling short. I thought she was a man at first glance due to a short haircut. But her eyes, hidden slightly by thick glasses, were unmistakably female. She had a long gash on the side of her face. I recall tears sliding down her cheeks. She knows one of us, was trying to save one of us, or maybe all of us. I thought she looked vaguely American, but you can't really put one nationality to Americans, seeing as that whole country is a melting pot of different races.

I had made eye contact with her, too. Nodded at her. Silently promised her we'd be safe.

As I walk through the seemingly deserted halls, I can't help but feel out of place: me, wearing dirty, tomato-covered clothes, while the rest of this place is lavishly decorated with all the amenities. Some of these, like that tapestry right there, look like antiques. It depicts two pirates fighting, one with an ax, and the other with a pistol. Suddenly, I frown and move closer to it: those pirates look awfully familiar….

I stare at the textile, trying to connect the dots. Where have I seen these two before? Then it hits me. The one with the ax is Antonio. The one with the pistol is Josh.

My frown deepens. Why does Antonio have a tapestry of him and Josh fighting in his house?! It certainly didn't seem like they've met before….But Josh has obviously seen him somewhere before….Called him "Spain." ….

I'm sensing a pattern here. Somehow, the three who took us first (I never learned their names) and Antonio are linked together. I suppose the tomato man is, too; he looks like the first Italian's twin. How do they know each other, and what could they possibly want from us? Maybe Josh is also somehow linked to the men…. Can he be trusted…?

I'll decide that later.

Looking over the textile once more, I turn away from it and continue in my wanderings. It really is warm here. It's a shame I don't want anyone to see the scars covering my arms, or I'd roll up my sleeves.

The décor in here really is based on one theme—tomatoes.

And I mean that literally.

It's like a shrine for tomatoes.

I keep walking around until I find a courtyard with a big tree growing in the middle of it. I push open the door and exit. I'm surprised at the temperature; it's hotter than one would expect for January, but it's not cold at all. It's mild.

It's apparent at once there's nothing particularly interesting about this place, so go back inside, following the landmarks like the pirate tapestry until I reach the room where Josh and Harvey are. Josh is awake now, but he doesn't look too happy as he clutches the still-cool icepack over his wound. Harvey looks relieved as I walk back in.

I wave Josh up. Slowly, he puts his feet over the side of the bed and stands, but Harvey tries to make him sit back down. I make the "One minute" gesture at him, and wave again at Josh. A little apprehensively, he follows me as I make my way back to the tapestry. I notice Harvey also trails.

I point to the textile, at the pirate with the gun, and then at Josh. He frowns at the little embroidered buccaneer, and then recognition crosses his face, and for some strange reason, he laughs. "_I get it, that's England_," he says, still holding the blue icepack to the back of his hand. "_Man, I bet Issa really is right…._" Then he looks up at me again. "_That's not me._" When I don't understand, he points at the tapestry and himself, and then he shakes his head _no_. I guess he's not the pirate on the tapestry. But there's no doubt about the fact that the ax-wielding pirate is Antonio, or Spain, or whoever he really is.

What did he say? I didn't hear "_Spain_" again…. But am I right in thinking that "_England_" is "England"? He really does like the countries, doesn't he…?

So, the man who looks like Josh's name is "England." Antonio is "Spain." Is this just some sort of game? Well, then. Why not the German man be "Germany," or the Japanese man "Japan"? But then what will the Italian twins be? "North Italy" and "South Italy"? Or perhaps, "West Italy" and "East Italy"?

What would I be? "Russia"? Would Harvey be "France," and Josh "America"?

Hnn. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Antonio makes his way up the hallway. We all freeze, but I make an effort to conceal mine. The brunette smiles happily, greeting us in Spanish.

I clench my hands into fists. Startled at me but trying to hide it, he backs away a few steps to show he's not going to do anything. He gives me the same scared smile that everyone usually gives me.

I hate that smile. I mean, yes, I have been trained be a deadly weapon, and I could easily snap anyone's—well, _almost _anyone's—necks. I do realize that people find that alarming. But just because I can doesn't mean I will. Also, that skill isn't something you can see. People are afraid of me just because I'm large-boned and freakishly tall fir my age. Maybe my eyes have something to do with it—purple isn't a particularly common eye color, is it?

Well, I use my abnormally colored eyes to glare down the potential threat in front of me. I can see his anxiety increasing, and he holds up his hands to show he's not holding anything. To be perfectly honest, my heart rate is also snowballing. I wonder if he can see the fear in my eyes. I certainly can see it in his.

Did you know that your eyes always tell the truth? Whenever you lie, your pupils swell. Adrenaline makes them shrink. Antonio's pupils are contracting. I wonder if mine are, too. I hope he can't tell. Oh, what does it matter? He can't even bring himself to look me in the eye.

He looks past me, at Josh and Harvey, and he says something in Spanish. Josh goes, "_Oh! I just—! I wish I could just remember—"_He looks at Antonio, and he continues, "_I took this class, but I can't remember the translation to whatever the heck you just said." _

"_Eh ... ¿Te sientes mejor?"_ he asks, his smile going from scared to cold. I'm just impressed he can keep a smile on at all. **(Eh…. Do you feel better?)**

"_I have no idea what you just said, but sure, let's go with that."_ Josh shrugs, looking like he couldn't care less. But I can see the fear in his eyes, too. The same gleam is in Harvey's. It seems we're all afraid of each other.

_Well, here's an idea! Let all of us go home!_ I think sarcastically.

Antonio keeps on grinning, and he beckons us to follow him. He walks backwards a few steps, and when none of us move, he beckons again. I realize Harvey and Josh are just waiting for my consent.

This catches me slightly off-guard. I'm not used to being a leader. But…I guess it couldn't hurt if we followed him…. I can always hurt him if he tries anything funny….

So I am the first to take a step forward, which seems to surprise Antonio. But as soon as I start forward, the other two do too. So he shrugs off his surprise and continues leading.

He takes us to a room. It's like the room in…wherever the heck we just were. But a lot more Spanish. The architecture is remarkably different; it's more…flamboyant. Passionate. The architect must have been really enthusiastic about building this place.

It's in my mind that Antonio's going to lock us in here, so I keep a wary eye on him. But he goes in first, making a beeline for the dresser. He opens it, shifts through its contents, and then waves Harvey closer. When he tentatively steps forward, Antonio holds up a shirt against Harvey's chest, making a sloppy measurement. He must decide it will fit, so he gives it to him. Antonio lets him check the measurement for pants. Then, with the ever-present beam, he points to a door that must be a bathroom, and he gives him a good-natured shove towards it. Harvey doesn't seem to think it's very friendly, but he accepts the clothes and goes to the door.

While Harvey changes from his tomato-stained clothes, Antonio keeps rummaging through the drawers. I exchange a skeptical look with Josh. No matter how kind Antonio seems, I still don't like him.

Harvey comes back out, frowning slightly. He looks more uncomfortable with the offering of the clothes than the clothes themselves. He was given a long-sleeved blue shirt and tan pants. I notice he still wears the same shoes with traces of the red fruit.

After searching a few more minutes, Antonio throws a bundle of clothes at Josh. He was spacing off a little bit, so it hit him in the face. But he takes the clothes and walks into the bathroom, albeit a little shakily. When he comes back out, he's wearing a green T-shirt and jeans.

Finally, after abandoning the dresser and checking the closet, Antonio finds a shirt and pants that might fit me. I go in the bathroom after giving Antonio a polite nod of thanks. I look at the white shirt, and I frown at it. It's short-sleeved.

After glaring at the shirt for a while, I decide to change into the jeans. I feel such resentment towards the piece of cloth for not being enough to cover the scars on my arms.

I go back into the room. Antonio's smile falters when he looks up from Josh attempting to speak Spanish. "¿_Hay algún problema?"_ he asks, looking concerned. **(Is there a problem?)**

"I don't speak your language," I mutter, shrugging.

Harvey must guess why I refuse to wear short sleeves, seeing as he looks up at me with pity, even when Antonio and Josh both seem out of it. He moves closer, reaching for my arm.

I pull it away and scowl at him. That certainly got the stupid Spaniard's attention. His face now lacking the smile, he approaches me, reaching out his hand. My panic rising, I roll my hands into fists and glare at him, but I guess it's not as convincing as the adrenaline flows through me harder than ever.

All of my instincts scream at me to punch Antonio right in the face, but I can't make myself do that. All I want to do is run away and hide like the coward I am. When he starts to push up my sleeves, come to my senses and shove him away from me. Hard.

Antonio stumbles back. I frown and look at my hands. That was enough force to make any normal human fly back, and it barely affected him?! Wh—what's wrong with me?!

While I am distracted, Harvey jumps on the opportunity to seize my arm and force my sleeve up, revealing the many deep cuts and scars. I flinch and push it back down, but not before they are revealed to the entire room, including the enemy.

I glare at Harvey. "What did you do that for?!" I shout at him. He shrinks back, muttering things in French and avoiding my eyes.

I bite the inside of my cheek and cross my arms stubbornly over my scarred chest. I glare at Antonio as he makes his way closer to me again. But now, I doubt I could get any more petrified. No one is supposed to know about my scars. No one. That is rule number one at my house.

Antonio stops a few meters away from me and turns around again, and he looks for something in the drawers of that desk. He comes back with a few Band-Aids. As he holds them out, I stare at them, confused. I just don't understand this man. He's supposed to be the evil kidnapper, not give a crap about his hostages, scowling and shoving us around; that German guy fits the stereotype pretty well. But it's like he's making an effort to connect with us, and I don't get it.

I slowly accept the bandages—curse my trembling hands—but I don't dare push up my sleeves again, so I just stick them in my pocket. Antonio looks in the closet again, and, after a few minutes, he comes back out with a yellow shirt around my size with long sleeves.

"…Thank you. A lot," I mumble at him, even though he can't understand me. I close the door to the bathroom and take off my school shirt. I can't help but stop and examine my bare torso at its most vulnerable, with all the open wounds. Some of which happened recently, some which have already turned into thin, puckered scars.

I pull on the yellow shirt, and I can't help but rub my arm a little bit, as if I'm trying to magically erase the cuts.

They probably think I did this to myself. I guess that's preferable. I _didn't_, but as long as my secret is safe, it's acceptable. Although, I've seen what happens to people who cut themselves; Russian winters are hard on everyone. There was this one girl, she was sent to the office when her secret got out. I heard she was sent later to an insane asylum, but those were just the rumors.

But it's not like Antonio can send me to an insane asylum. I bet he's just babysitting the captives while the three original captors do whatever it is they're doing. He doesn't have the authority. And still, it doesn't make sense to release me after they go through the trouble of getting me here in the first place.

As I emerge again, there's a far off knocking sound. Antonio makes the "One minute" gesture and hurries out of the door. But there's a slam, like a door opening with such force it hits the wall. Then there's talking in Japanese—it's very different from Spanish—and I realize with contempt that the first three captors are back. Josh and Harvey must recognize the voices, too; they stiffen.

I feel my face contort into a snarl as they enter the room, Antonio and several soldiers following. The soldiers are silent, but Antonio talks to them, almost happily: he smiles and pats the head of the ditzy Italian twin. But his words also seem urgent, concerned.

The tomato twin comes in. He growls and starts yelling in Italian at the German man, and Antonio has to hold him back as he starts charging.

The soldiers surround us. My brotherly-overprotectiveness kicks in full gear when they start pushing only Harvey and I out the door. "What are—?!" I manage, turning around and looking a soldier in the face. I'm actually as tall as him, and he's a fully-grown man. He pokes me in the chest with his rifle, ordering me to do something in German. (I'm getting better at recognizing different languages.)

Josh is certainly confused. He starts to follow us, but the German man grabs his shoulder and pushes him back. I indignantly step towards him, but he waves his Taser at me almost teasingly. A low growl escapes me, but I keep stepping back as the soldiers keep prodding me with their weapons.

As a last-ditch effort, I make eye contact with Antonio. He can't let them do this. But he adverts his gaze. Then the door closes, and the soldiers make us walk down the hall.

What's going to happen now?! There must be a reason. I just don't understand their logic.

Harvey and I are forced into the same van as before. I twist around in my seat to give a last glance at the mansion, and then it disappears.

Harvey can't stay still. He's tapping his foot and repeatedly running his fingers through his hair; he's obviously freaking out. I don't know what to say to him. Well, if he could understand me. I've never been good at being a therapist.

Suddenly, the van seems to go off a cliff. Lights flash all around, and I'm sure I'm about to be consumed by a raging inferno when everything rights itself.

But it's different.

How on earth did we go from no sun and tomato fields to snow banks and evergreens in less than a minute?!

Before I can worry about that, the van jerks to a stop. Because we both neglected our seatbelts, Harvey and I slam into the seats in front of us. The soldiers open the door. Freezing air rushes in as they roughly grab my arms and toss me unceremoniously into the snow.

While I spit out the powder, there's the slamming sound of a car door closing. I turn around, horrified, and the van's already racing off. I get up, wobbling a little, and chase after it weakly. But a flash of light threatens to burn out my eyes. When I open them again, the van and Harvey is gone.

"…H—hello…?" I manage. I stumble over to where it disappeared. But when I cross the line, I stay in the snow. "H—Harvey? J—Josh?"

"…Dimah…?" someone says.

I whirl around and nearly lose my balance. "S—sisters?"

"DIMAH!" a higher-pitched voice shrieks, and my little sister tackle-hugs me. This time, I do lose my balance, and we both topple into the snow.

"Al—Alina?" I gasp as her thin arms grasp my neck a little too tightly.

"Alina, you're squishing him! Get off!" my older sister Vera cries, tugging on the back of her jacket.

"Wh—what? Vera, wh—where—?" I stutter, sitting up and putting my hand on Alina's back in a weak attempt at an embrace.

"What do you mean 'Where'?!'" Vera asks hysterically, kneeling down and joining in on the hug. "Where have you been?! We s—saw those men p—put you in the v—van a—and drive off with you!"

"I—I don't get it…," I mumble, wildly turning my head back and forth, trying to make sense of what just happened. "I—I was in S—Spain. Or I—Italy or something….B—but now I'm in R—Russia…?"

"There's no way you could have been all the way in Spain!" Vera says, now pushing my snow-covered bangs out of my eyes. "I—I think you're just confused…."

"I—I don't—" I take several deep breaths, closing my eyes.

"D—Dimah!" Vera shrieks in alarm. "Are you okay?!"

In answer, I allow myself to fall backwards and pass out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I come to, I know I'm in my own bed at home because of the scent of the sheets covering me. I slowly sit up before even opening my eyes; I rub sleep out of them, and then take in my surroundings, just to make sure I'm really home. I am.

The first emotion I feel is sadness. Remorse. Why am I here? Where are Josh and Harvey? What happened to them? Were they able to go home?

Then fear. I may be home, but I'm far from comfort. This might be more dangerous for me than wherever I just was.

My door creaks open, revealing the last person on my list of people I'd like to see after waking up from passing out: my father.

"Hello, son," he says, the malice in his voice tangible.

"H—hello," I reply, trying not to squeak.

"Can you tell me"—he starts forward, fingering his ever-present pocket knife—"where you were, and why I had to fish your lifeless body out of a snow bank?"

"I—I was—i—it's not my fault—they had a taser—" I stutter.

"Not your fault, eh, boy?" he mutters, stalking forward a few steps and twirling the knife in his hand. "They had a taser, did they?"

I remain silent, remembering my lessons with him: _Don't make excuses._

He grabs my arm. I know better than to fight back. But I can't watch as he takes the knife and makes a deep cut across my forearm, crisscrossing with a few other scars. He makes several more, going vertically down my arm. The sleeve of Antonio's yellow shirt is dyed red.

Finally, he folds up the knife and sticks it back in his pocket, and he leaves without another word. I already know not to go to Alina or Vera, or the police, or anyone else.

I grasp my arm, and warm blood trickles through my fingers. I have to wrap this up, or else it will stain the sheets and people will start asking dangerous questions. So I get the first-aid kit I stashed behind my dresser and reapply the already blood-stained bandages.

I hate my father. I hope he dies. I'm ashamed to be related to such scum; he's done such terrible things to my family alone; he often goes away for months on end without telling us where he is, so maybe he's doing something illegal wherever he is.

He gave Vera Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome when she was a little girl by locking her up in the basement with our mother. She was forced, at age six, to help her give birth to me, and then she held her hand as she died in front of her eyes. I'm sure it caused some trouble with the police, but my father is a very good liar. And besides, who would believe the word of a six-year-old compared to a grown man "Grieving" over the "Loss" of his "Wife"?

When he remarried again, it was to a beautiful but cold-hearted woman. As much as I resent her as well, she did give me my little sister. But she left my father and dumped Alina here to suffer under my father's wrath.

I should be more grateful. The relationship between my sisters has grown, not crumbled, as more hardships throw themselves at us.

Here's another thing to be grateful for—none of us inherited my father's eye color. His is a cold, steely brown, but ours are shades of blue and violet, like our mothers. I can't imagine what it must be like to have eyes as hard as his.

Or maybe I can. I used my powerful glare to intimidate Antonio today. Maybe my purple eyes are as cold as my father's brown ones.

I finish wrapping my arm up, and I change into some clean clothes, hiding the yellow shirt in the back of my closet. I really wish I could stop living like this. In fear of getting mauled by my own father. It crosses my mind that maybe I should go to the police.

But they wouldn't really care. No one ever does. I'm just another sob story to them.

No one cared when, as soon as I was twelve, I got three jobs to support what was left of my family. No one notices at school when I come beat up and bloody every day. No one but my sisters cared when I was kidnapped in the middle of a school day.

I wonder why I was kidnapped in the first place when it's obvious I'm worthless.

**Okay sorry for the depressing stuffs I really should be working on a new chapter of this. **

**Oh, yeah, and tomorrow, the 4****th**** of December, is the one year anniversary of this story~! Yayyyy~! *party hats and confetti***


	12. Defensiveness

**Hey guys guess whose writers blocked again oH WAIT THAT'S ME**

**I don't own Tumblr or Hetalia or Avengers**

Issa's POV

No matter what I do, I can't fall asleep. I try to listen to only the quietness of this room, but it's not quiet at all, thanks to America. I also can't move from this uncomfortable position I'm in. Also thanks to America. I'm glad he passed out on top of the covers. It would have been a lot weirder if he was under them with me.

So, ever since I woke up from my nightmare at about three in the morning, I've been awake, incapable of moving or relaxing at all. It's kind of hard when you've got an obnoxiously snoring Alfred spooning you.

Finally, I can read the clock, and it reads seven in the morning. That's an acceptable time to be up. I start squirming in America's arms, but he merely snorts in his sleep and buries his face into the back of my shirt. I sigh impatiently, and then I start trying to untangle his fingers from one another. Guess how well that works.

"America," I whisper. "Get up." I try to turn around to poke him. "You're squishing me."

Maybe I need to be harsher with him. I don't really want to, though. It's not really in my nature to be harsh. The most I can make myself do is elbow him in the stomach, which leaves no damage whatsoever.

I go limp with another sigh. Then, as a last-ditch effort, I flail my arms and legs, wriggling like a trapped snake. But America tightens his hold on me.

"Hey. America. America, I need a hero," I tell him.

Of all the things that can wake him up, it has to be that one little sentence.

"Huh—?" he slurs, opening his eyes. "Whassamatter?"

"Nothing," I respond. "You just wouldn't wake up."

He seems to realize he's still hanging on to my stomach, and he withdraws his arms. "Oh. Sorry," he says sheepishly.

"It's okay," I respond, sitting up and stretching. "You can go back to sleep if you want."

"Sounds like a plan," he mutters, grabbing a pillow to use as a teddy bear instead of me. Within seconds, he's out again, snoring like a chainsaw.

I get up and walk the feeling back into my legs. Before I leave the room, I stop in front of a mirror. I've got one heck of a bruise around my entire left cheek, and both my eyes are blackened; my left eye more so than the right one. To add insult to injury, the cut itself turned into a disgusting yellow and red scab behind the little black stitches. And also, it freaking_ hurts_. Yeah, it hurt yesterday, too, but it hurts a lot worse now.

I go down to the living room, unsure of where else to go. I'm not expecting anyone, really, but Canada's sitting there reading a book, Kumajirou sitting on the back of the couch and swatting at his hair. He's not really paying attention to the news playing quietly on the TV.

Overcome with a sudden desire to be alone, I pause, sheepishly turning around. I hope he didn't notice me.

But he did. "Good morning," he says cheerfully.

I turn back around and attempt a smile through the blush I'm getting. "Morning."

Canada frowns. "That looks like it hurts."

I forgot about the pain for a second while panicking about socializing with my favorite anime character, so I have to stroke my face to remember what he's talking about. "O—oh. Yeah."

"Do you want an ice pack?"

All of my instincts tell me to deny the offer— _don't bother him, don't bother him, don't bother him—_but it really does hurt. So I shrug, which is the best thing I can think of right now.

I'm ashamed at myself. It's a simple yes or no question: _do you want an ice pack_?

Canada gets up anyway and goes to the kitchen, which is separated from this room by a wall with a large window cut into it. I can see the kitchen from the window in that wall, if that makes more sense. On the other side of the window is a breakfast bar with several stools. Beyond that is a long counter lined with several cupboards.

Canada goes to the big silver fridge in the back of the kitchen, and he opens the freezer. Walking back over, he hands it to me. I thank him and hold it against my cheek. It stings, but it feels _really_ good. It's one of those "good pain" things.

He smiles at my expression of relief. "Hurt that bad, eh?"

I nod, taking off my glasses so I can hold the icepack against my eye. "Thank you," I tell him again.

"No problem. How did you sleep?"

"Fine." _Minus the fact that I had the worst nightmare in a long time, and then was violated by your brother. _

"That's good," he comments.

There's a few moments of silence. Then, curious and wanting the ice to be broken, I point out, "Your leg was broken yesterday."

Canada nods, glancing down. "I'm not—well, this is obvious, but—I'm not human. I don't heal at the same rate you do."

"How fast?" I question. When I realize it's not as specific as I wanted it to be, I add, "How fast do you heal?"

"It depends on how hard I concentrate," he answers. "But the bad thing is that, to heal my body, it takes money from my country. I wasn't really planning on trying to heal this fast, but, y'know, it's been a complicated few days."

I nod, unsure of what else to say. I look over at the news. For a second, I read something on the little moving bar thing that goes across the bottom of the screen about heavy snow in New Hampshire. Then the anchor-lady says, "And now we go to a more local story. It started out as a normal day for residents Isabella Pryce and Joshua Davies, freshmen at Washington D.C. High School."

I almost drop the icepack as I make a little scramble to get the remote. Turning the volume up a little and shoving my glasses back on my face, I sit on the couch and listen intently.

"They had almost started their seventh-period class when three intruders _walked in_, kidnapped the two at gun- and knife-point, and _walked out_, nearly killing several police officers while making their escape. Here we have footage of the event." And the camera goes from a face-shot of the anchor-lady to a video.

I watch as Germany and Japan force Josh and myself out of the building, with Italy just hiding behind Germany. Who hides behind me. The camera zooms in on the Axis's faces, then Josh's, and then mine. It kind of feels like I'm watching a movie. Like, I'm desperately hoping that we'll get away. I'm on the verge of standing up, shaking the TV, and screaming at myself to run.

I hear the small conversation between me and one of the officers: me saying they don't speak English, him asking what language, me responding, him asking if I could ask their demands, and then my response in Japanese to Germany is hardly audible from the camera.

I hear my voice gasp and yell, "Grenade!" There's a booming sound from the video, and the camera goes flying back. People scream and give panicked orders. Through the haze of fire and scrambling people in police uniforms, we are able to make out the Axis and the victims. Germany drops me in the snow. I get up and try to run. Japan grabs my hood and drags me back. Germany pushes in Josh and comes to help Japan. They push me in and slam the door. Then they all get in the van and drive away. The video ends.

"The whereabouts of the two minors are unconfirmed. However, Ms. Pryce reappeared yesterday at the school, and disappeared soon after. Sources say she might be somewhere in the city, but they are not definite. Mr. Davies has not been spotted." The anchor-lady finishes. "An eyewitness, Officer John Bradley, recalls the event."

It cuts to a video clip of some guy I don't recognize. He has a handle-bar mustache and aviator sunglasses. He talks about how some of his best officers got hospitalized because of the fire. I think he's the one who told them to put the guns down and stuff. Then, it shows blurry pictures of the Axis, Josh, and finally, me. Then it shows the number to call if someone spots any of us.

"Wow, Sue. We can only hope and pray for their safety," the guy anchor says. "In other news…." I stop listening after that.

I realize Canada is looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I clear my throat to get it working. "Th—they called me 'Ms. Pryce,'" I say with a small laugh.

"I noticed that," he smiles. "Are you okay? You look kind of shaken."

I nod. "Yeah. It's just…scary, seeing it from that point of view."

"Yeah. Although, I'm sure it wasn't as scary as actually getting kidnapped."

"I dunno. It's scary both ways." I shrug. Kumajirou crawls onto my lap, and I scratch under his chin.

"I'm hungry," he says demandingly.

"All right," Canada says. He picks him up and goes back to the kitchen, where he feeds him a can of tuna. I honestly don't know why I find this adorable. "What about you?" he asks, looking back at me. "Are you hungry?"

"I, uh, don't like fish," I tell him.

He laughs. "What if I make pancakes?"

"Can I help?" I ask.

"Okay!" He beams, and I know it's because he doesn't feel invisible around me. I find his grin to be super cute. Not like, "I'd date that" cute. More like "Aw, look at the little baby~!" kind of cute.

I hope Canada never finds my Tumblr: it's basically pictures of him being the cutie he is.

Canada's pancakes are really good. Like, _really_ good. He adds ingredients that most people wouldn't think of, like vanilla, or cinnamon, or powdered sugar or something. Either way, it's delicious.

There's a sound like an elephant stumbling down the halls. Without even turning around, Canada says, "Good morning, Alfred."

"You made food~!" he says, half-asleep.

"Uh-huh!" he responds, putting, like, ten on a plate and sliding it down to him. He slides the maple syrup down a few seconds later. America digs in, getting syrup on the corners of his mouth.

A few minutes later, another door opens, and Zack comes in, wiping at his eyes and stretching. "M' the last one up?"

"Yep," Canada responds lightly, flipping another pancake over. Kumajirou, sitting on the counter, reaches over and tries to steal some of America's pancakes.

"Oh no you don't, you little thief," I tease, picking up the polar bear and placing him on my lap.

"Aw, man!" he whines.

"I'll never got over that," Zack comments in a mumble to me. "It's a _talking polar bear._"

"Yeah, I guess it's a little creepy, but he's harmless." I pause for effect. "_Mostly._"

"'Mostly,'" he repeats faintly. "You really scare me at times, y'know?"

I shrug and pet the bear again. "Yeah."

Zack leans forward suddenly. Then he winces and tips back. "One heck of a shiner you got there."

I nod and instinctively put my hand slightly over the cut. "Yeah. It hurts."

He seems to suddenly remember something, and he puts his hand in his pocket. Then he gives me one of those itty-bitty half-Bandaids. "I found this."

I laugh, accepting it. "Thanks." I just hold it, because it's not big enough to even fit on the cut. But it really was a sweet gesture.

America gets up and turns up the volume of the TV, just in time to see the recap of this morning's show. He goes, "Oh, hey!" when it recaps the story on me. Then he rewinds it, going back to the start of it.

"And now we go back to a more local story," says Sue the news-lady. I just kinda sit there, faced away from the television, stroking Kumajirou's fur. Finally, it ends again with "Wow, Sue, we can only hope and pray for their safety" from the guy-anchor.

"That was just yesterday?" from Zack.

"Nope," I respond. "Three days ago, I think." I count the days on my fingers—when it happened, stayed there till the next day, when I escaped and had the dance and stuff, and then today. "Yeah, three days. "

"That sucks," he comments.

"Yeah, it's still a bit of a shock…," I reply, refusing to look up. "It's a change."

"A big change," he says.

"Yeah." I fiddle with a strand of Kuma's fur that's longer than the rest. He starts trying to take off my glasses and try them on. "Ow," I tell him, pushing his paw away. "These'll probably be too strong for you anyways."

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how badly does it hurt?" Zack asks.

"I dunno. Is ten painful, or not painful?"

"Painful."

"…I don't know. Six. Seven. Why?"

"I dunno. I've never been mauled before, so I just wanna know."

"Mauled is kind of a strong word," I object. "Like, when you say mauled, I think of, like, bear attack."

"I only attack if he tells me to," Kuma interjects, pointing a paw at Canada.

Canada shrugs. "Sometimes you get in those tight spots, y'know?"

I nod and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Yeah, well, the guy freaking attacked your face!" Zack says.

"But still, 'Mauled' to me means, like, multiple cuts, like claws," I explain. "This is just one. And, like I said, I was provoking him."

"So you're saying you _deserved_ it?"

I lean back and fold my arms over my stomach. "Why are you nitpicking at everything I say?"

"'Nitpicking.'"

"You're doing it again," I tell him. Zack just shrugs. I sigh. "No, I'm not saying I deserved it. But I _am_ saying I brought it on myself. I knew exactly how he would react, and I still wouldn't move. Well, actually, I just didn't think he'd really do it. He had the knife out and everything, and I wouldn't move out of his way. I just thought he'd restrain himself; he took me because he thought I was Al's lookalike—even though I'm Canada's, I guess—and if he cut me I wouldn't look like him anymore. Usually he's more…. I dunno, goal-oriented. If he wants something, you're darn sure he's going to get it exactly how it is, not a single hair out of place. I just thought he'd stick to that state of mind," I elucidate. "So, basically, I was playing chicken with an angry German. I don't really recommend doing that."

"…You know all of us pretty well," Canada says.

"Yeah, I _should_. I've been obsessed with Hetalia since I found out about it," I say with a slight smile. "I guess the hours of writing fan fictions and gushing about it to internet friends finally paid off."

Canada smiles. "I guess so."

"W—what about Japan?" America asks anxiously. "What did he do?"

"Not much," I respond, trying not to make him sound like the bad guy, even though he is. America just looks so sad, like he can't believe Japan would do such a thing. "It was mostly Germany."

"He still went along with it, though," he says angrily. The room suddenly has a tense feel.

"He didn't hurt me," I protest quietly.

"Why are you sticking up for him?!"

"I—I'm not, it's j—just—"

"It sure sounds like you _are_." There's a slow screeching sound as America bends his fork with his bare hands.

"Al, that's enough," Canada interjects softly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, he says, "I'm sorry. I just can't believe he'd pull a stunt like this again."

"It's okay," I say. "Must be hard."

"S—so, what _did_ he do?"

"Well, he was the one who cut my hair. He's had experience with cutting cosplay wigs, I'm pretty sure. I think he was gonna cut Jia Li's hair, too. That's pretty much it; he wasn't there most of the time," I say. With a slight laugh, I add, "You should have seen his face when I told him I knew who he really was."

"How did you do that? Do you know Japanese?"

"I'm not fluent. I called Germany a 'Potato-jerk.' Romano's special nickname for him," I explain. "Then Japan asked where I heard that from, and I just said Hetalia. Germany made him look up Hetalia on his phone, and they left the door open, so we just left."

"…Great tactics."

"Well," I laugh, "it worked, didn't it?"

Zack clears his throat. "How did you do that?" he asks, pointing at the bent fork.

"Oh," Al laughs. "Super-strength."

"Super-strength."

"Uh-huh."

"…Oh, I get it. 'Cause America is the world's superpower, right." He smiles. "That kinda funny, actually. And…terrifying at the same time."

America just grins. "And I'm the hero. Don't forget that part."

"Of course not," he responds.

Someone knocks on the door. America mumbles a small, "I'll get it," and he gets up to do just that. In the doorway stands no other than Zack's twin Josie, wielding a pocket knife. She looks terrified but determined. "Where's Zack?!" she demands.

"Josie! What are you doing here?!" Zack yelps, rushing towards her for a bear hug. "Put that down, you'll hurt yourself," he scolds her, knocking the small knife from her hand.

She slaps him. "I'm breaking you outta here, c'mon, let's go!"

Zack rubs at his face. "What was _that _for?!"

"They _obviously_ brainwashed you!"

"Uh, no we didn't," America interjects quietly.

Josie glares at him, reaching down for the knife again. "I swear, if you go after him again—"

Zack grabs the weapon before she can get it, and he folds it up and puts it in his back pocket. He starts trying to calm her down. "Josie, Josie, listen to me! They're friends, all right?!"

"They _kidnapped_ you!" she protests sharply.

"Did not!" America objects.

"_You_ stay out of this!" she snaps at him. Then, "C'mon, we're going home." She grabs the front of his shirt and starts trying to drag him out the door.

"Josie," he says, grabbing both of her hands, "they're not gonna hurt me, okay?! Just calm down and listen to the whole story!"

She obviously isn't happy with that, but she stops trying to force him out. "Fine."

"Look, okay, so there's these guys, right? And they're the bad guys. And he's—" he points at America, "—some sort of important asset to the government, and apparently, I look like him, so the bad guys were gonna try to kidnap me, but these guys got me first to protect me! Understand?"

"…That made _no_ sense."

"…Okay, sure, but they're protecting me, all right?"

Josie scowls, obviously thinking fast. Then she nods over at America, Canada, and me. "Someone explain. In detail."

For a few seconds, nobody speaks. Then I slowly stand up. "Okay…. In order for you to understand, you need to know about the nations." I look back at America and Canada, and they nod.

"I know what they are," she responds, affronted. "They're—"

"Not just what you think they are," I interrupt. "So, you've got the countries, like the landmasses and stuff, and then there's the nations."

"Okay…," she says, holding the last syllable out.

"Nations are, basically, personifications of the countries."

Her scowl deepens. "Not possible."

"Is too!" America protests.

She frowns at him. "I really don't like you," she responds bluntly. He pouts, and she shakes her head. "Leaving now," she says, grabbing Zack's sleeve and walking to the door.

America jumps up and runs to the door. Before they get there, he closes it and stands in front of it. "Can't let you do that. Sorry," he says.

Josie thinks for a minute. Then, she punches him in the stomach, pushes him down while he's in pain, opens the door and tries to leave. Zack just pulls out of her grasp and backs away. "You don't understand," he says, trying to calm her down. "You didn't even hear the entire story."

"Then _tell_ me the entire story!" she exclaims.

So, in random little snippets, Canada and I explain to her. America is sore at her for punching him, so he's sulking by the door. Josie is dumbfounded.

"But that's—"

"Actually not impossible."

"Do you have any—"

"—Proof? D'you wanna see my scars?"

"No. That's gross."

"That's pretty much the only proof we have."

"Oh, wait," interjects Canada, "what about those pictures, Al?"

"Oh, right, the pictures," he echoes, and then he goes and runs off with a "Be right back." He comes back a few minutes later with a couple photographs in his hand. "See. This," he hands her an old-looking one, "is me right here."

"…But this was taken—"

"—During the Civil War, yeah." He winces and rubs his arm. "That time was _not_ fun. Split personalities _sucks_."

Josie sighs, obviously trying to be open-minded. "You shoved him in your car and drove off without a word of explanation."

"We were in a rush."

"My mom cried herself to sleep last night."

"…I'm sorry," America says sincerely.

"I thought you were _dead_," she throws at Zack.

He looks guilty for a second. Then, looking up with a little sly half-smile, he says, "Did you mourn?"

She rolls her eyes at the Avenger's quote but slugs him in the arm with a small, "We all did."

Zack looks at America. "Can I go see her? My mom, I mean."

"Sure, no prob." Al looks at Canada for a couple seconds, as if he's asking if he wants to come or not. When Canada shakes his head a little, America nods understandingly. "Wanna go?" he asks at me. I shake my head. He points at me but looks at Canada again. "Watch this one; she's wily." I stick my tongue out at him and he ruffles my hair and exits with Josie and Zack.

For the next few hours, nothing much happens. I lurk around in my room, unwilling to go out and be friendly to Canada. It's not like I don't like him; I do this to everyone, hide in my room until I feel obligated to show up every hour or so to ensure that I'm still alive. I don't like to do it, but it comforts me in a way. It contradicts itself, not liking to do it but getting a pleasing feeling from it, but I guess that's how it is.

I hear the front door open, signaling America and Zack's return. Deciding that it's time for another one of my appearances, I open the door and walk out, scratching the top of my head and greeting them with a fake smile. Josie's there—I'm assuming she asked to stay to keep an eye on her brother, and her presence means she was given permission. Or, because we told her exactly who Al and Matt are, she has to stay because she'll start a scandal. Both of those situations sound logical, but I like the first possibility better. After a while, finding out Josie's here for the first reason, I return to my room.

I have my backpack from school with me, considering I took it with me when I left. Withdrawing my sketchbook from under my heavy trapper-keeper-styled binder, I sit on the ground and look through all my half-hearted sketches. I don't like to draw, either; I look at someone else's and they're just _so much better_. But I do it anyway out of boredom. I guess it's good; I'm practicing something I'm not good at in hopes I get better, even though I know I won't. I get so frustrated sometimes, looking at my drawings and then at someone else's, throwing my sketchbook across my room, or, sometimes just stuffing it unceremoniously into my backpack, where the paper cover gets torn and ripped.

And it's just so maddening whenever I get sudden urges to draw, when I know I'll be left unsatisfied with my work. But I always pick up my pencil and eraser and sketch lines with a light hand until I think of some form to shape. Like now. I keep making lines with an old mechanical pencil, thinking of something I could do, then erasing it again. Over and over, again and again I erase. Until the page is too worn to continue on it.

Right as I'm about to desert the page to ruin the next one, an idea occurs to me. I reposition myself to a more comfortable pose and draw what I see in my mind until I am satisfied with it. It's much more vivid in my thoughts; not even close to what I was thought. But it's as close as I can get. I draw a crude picture of England, shirt ripped, blood the color of my pencil shading his clothes, the closest I could get to an expression of submission on his face.

Suddenly, I am horrified with myself. This is real, what happened—probably still happening at this moment—to England is _real_. England, my rescuer, my second favorite character, is being tortured, and it's my fault.

I should've stayed. I shouldn't have escaped from Germany. England would be alright; he'd be fine at his house. But I went and screwed up everything again by escaping. I couldn't even get Josh out….

Why do I care so much about Josh? He watched that kid bully me for a year. He stood by when I needed someone to stand up for me. He didn't care about me—but suddenly he does. I understand his reasoning—we should've been helping each other.

I shake my head a little, taking a few calming breaths. I'm over-reacting again. I didn't plan for England to be taken. I didn't plan for Josh to get left behind. I didn't reach out for him when I should have. I didn't reach out to anyone, and I should have. But it's not my fault all these things are happening. I need to stop thinking like that.

I look at the clock on the wall; it's about five-thirty, and also about an hour since I was social for a few minutes. America and the twins are watching some scary movie, and Canada's in the kitchen making something. Kuma sits on the counter, trying to watch the movie; whenever he gets scared, he scuttles back a few inches. I move him forward when I see that if he gets scared one more time he'll run himself off the edge.

"Hey," I greet Canada.

He looks up at me and smiles. "Hi! Haven't seen much of you lately."

"Yeah, well." I shrug halfheartedly. "Don't worry, I'm usually this antisocial."

"Me too," he says like it's some big secret.

I smile. "What's cooking, good looking?"

He blushes and stumbles over his words, obviously not used to compliments. "J—just pizza. I was making it from scratch; I don't trust those packaged things Al eats."

"My mom makes homemade pizza all the time," I offer.

"Wanna help?" he asks. I nod and start spooning tomato sauce on a circle of raw dough. Canada suddenly jumps; Kuma wandered off. He's not in front of the TV, either. With a rushed, "I'll be right back," he runs off to find the mischievous polar bear cub.

I continue spreading the sauce on the pizza. Canada left a block of cheese on the counter, so I'm assuming he wanted to grate it. So I locate the grater and a plate to catch it on, and I start grating. I can't help but listen in a bit to the movie even though I know I'll regret it later. Some dude gets mauled by a chainsaw, and the three watching scream in unison. Zack gets up with a small excuse of, "I forgot to—to do something ." He enters the kitchen and practically collapses in the corner.

"Forgot to remember that scary movies are actually scary?" I joke in a mumble in his general direction without looking up.

"Shut up!" he hisses back.

I make a tutting sound. "That wasn't nice."

"Shhhhh," he whispers. "Stop—stop wording—"

I give a small laugh. "Cute. Real cute."

"What'cha doing?" he asks after steeling his courage again, changing the subject. "Can I help?"

"Sure," I respond. There's still a ball of unshaped dough in a metal bowl, so I suppose Canada wanted to make another pizza out of that. I find a pan and hand it to him with the instructions to flatten the dough and "make a general—pizza shape—I guess…." Ending the sentence awkwardly, I turn my back and continue with the grating.

After a few minutes, Zack pipes up again. "Hey—watch this." When I turn, he throws the dough in the air, spinning it to flatten it. It would have been cool if it wasn't already thin before he tossed it; when he threw it, it was so slim it broke in midair. I laugh as he makes a disappointed noise.

Yet a few more minutes pass, and he says, "Okay, I got it, I think." I turn towards him right as he trips over something. As he flails, I instinctively reach out to grab his elbows to keep him from falling. When he rights himself, I realize he's a lot closer to me that I'm comfortable with, and I draw back, a blush spreading over my cheeks. _Why am I blushing_? I think to myself, annoyed.

"Thanks," he mumbles. He's blushing, too. Then he looks down to see what exactly it was he tripped on. It was Kumajirou, who now rubs his head with his paw.

"Little troublemaker," I say, picking up the bear and depositing him on the counter again. Then I turn around to sprinkle the freshly grated cheese on the pizza. Zack's suddenly there, arm reaching over me to grab for the pizza sauce to spread on the raw dough he flattened. He could have just gone around me to get it; instead, he entered my personal space, which has been very important to me lately. A thought occurs to me. "You're doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?" he asks innocently.

"Trying to make me blush." I keep my back to him as I decorate the pizza with toppings.

"Now, why would I do that?" as he keeps standing in my personal space.

"It's in your character," I respond coolly, shifting a bit to the right. "You did that this morning, 'member? Trying to get a reaction out of me."

"Yeah, okay," he admits, dropping the sultry attitude to replace it with a sheepish one. "You're just—sorry, lemme start over. I'm really interested in psychology, like, kinesis and stuff, how people think and respond to different situations, y'know? And I've never met anyone who was kidnapped…."

"So I'm a science experiment," I sum up, trying to keep my voice lighthearted. As I turn my back to him, I feel my eyebrows knit together.

"No, not like that," he answers hastily. "The way you talked about why you think you were taken in the first place, it sounds like an experiment too, but I'm not doing anything like that—"

"Sounds like it," I mumble. My fingers tremble with a mixture of anger at his insensitivity and fear of remembering.

"…I'm sorry," he says at last. "It was thoughtless of me."

"It's okay," I respond automatically.

"I really am," he adds quietly.

I turn around to look him in the eye, and I try a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay. Really." After a moment of painfully awkward silence—mostly silence. The scary movie leaks the screams into the room—I say, "I could help you with your experiment, y'know. All you had to do was ask."

"I get better results when the subjects in question don't know about it." He looks a bit guilty. "Now that I think about it, I probably should've asked them too—I acted like a real smart aleck."

"You are, though," I throw in, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughs and then sobers. "You're sure?" he asks. "You don't think it'll be… triggering?"

"No," I respond without thinking. "Ask away."

"Okay…," he hums, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Answer as honestly as possible. Or, if you don't like the question, say 'pass' or something…. How did you feel when they walked up to you?"

"Um…. I was a little skeptical…. I mean, I'm just a skeptical person, y'know. Meeting new people makes me uncomfortable. But I was kind of pleased because I could communicate with them, at least a little." I pause and let him take that in. "Then they started to get hostile…. I insisted that I was going to be late to class, but Germany wouldn't let me go. He kept his hand on my shoulder while he decided if I really was who he thought I was. That was kind of weird; I mean, he or one of his soldiers stalked me for a month or two before they decided to come take me; you'd think by then he would've memorized what I look like…."

Zack nods understandingly. "Okay. So, like, what happened then?"

"I realized he had a gun on him. So I told the teacher, and he told me to run. But Germany made a fuss, and then it turned into a hostage situation. It was just their luck that Josh was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Josh is England's lookalike," I remind as an afterthought. "Um…. They started to take us away. I started to fight. I mean, what do you expect me to do? Yeah, they had guns, but that just made me want to fight harder. I realized I was fighting a losing battle when he tied me up so easily. Then, well, you saw what happened on the news. They threw a grenade as a distraction, forced us into their van, and drove off. They teleported. Oh, wait, I assume they did, at least, because they knocked me out before they teleported."

"And you were scared?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "That's an understatement—I was terrified."

"And you haven't heard from Josh at all?"

"Nope," I respond. "Saw him when we went back to go fight. Lost him, though."

"Miss him?"

I glance up at him. "Bit intrusive, but, yeah. I never really talked to him before, though."

Zack hm's. "What about now? Are you still scared?"

"Sometimes," I admit. "I know it hasn't been that long since I escaped, but I keep having nightmares and flashbacks and all that happy crap."

"How often?" he asks, moving a bit closer sympathetically.

"Not _that_ often." The oven behind me beeps—it's done preheating. I put the pizzas in the oven and make a guess at how long it will take to cook them without burning them.

"But they scare you when they do happen?"

"Yeah." I sigh. "I know it's kinda stupid to be scared. I mean, I was only there for twenty-four hours tops."

"Nah, it's not stupid," he says. "It's a traumatizing event. I should know; I've been kidnapped."

I smile. "By Canada, America, and England."

"And you, remember?" He gently kicks my shin in a teasing manner. "You tricked me."

"Yeah, well, it was a life-or-death situation." I stop and think. "No, wait, it wasn't life-or-death. Freedom-or-imprisonment, sure, but not life-or-death. They wouldn't have killed you."

"That's comforting." He nods awkwardly for a few more seconds. "So, you saved me."

"In a way, sure."

"Well, thanks."

"No prob." For a few seconds, I just stand there and Zack sits on the counter, and we avoid looking at each other. I clear my throat. "Any more questions?"

"Nah." He stops. "Wait—yes. When you get a flashback, will you tell me?"

"Why?" I ask. "They're not really—"

He cuts me off. "They scare you, though. And—well—I was thinking—maybe I could comfort you."

I give a little laugh. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Richards?" I ask jokingly.

Zack looks up at me seriously. "Yes."

I see his body stiffen, waiting for my answer. I freeze for a second, confused and put on the spot. How am I supposed to react to this?! My mind tells me to crack a joke. So, of course, I have to listen to my stupid brain. "Ah, me. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

He is surprised and confused. "Wh—what?"

"I—it reminded me of Romeo and Juliet," I explain hastily, embarrassed already. "I mean, we haven't known each other for two days and you're hitting on me."

"But you said Juliet's line," he points out recognizing the material. "So does that mean I can be Romeo?"

"How about I be Rosaline?"

"Who?"

"Who Romeo was in love with when the play started. That way I survive the story."

He chuckles nervously. "Right. But doesn't she end up as, like, a nun or something?"

"I'm not sure on the nun thing, but she pledges never to marry."

"Oh, okay." He gets off the counter. "Well, could Romeo still do this—?" And he leans toward me and practically slams his face into mine, glasses centimeters away from touching. Shock freezes me, and I let out the slightest sound in protest. Then, I regain my senses as I stare at his eyelids, bringing my right hand up to convey across his cheek.

He jerks to the left as I underestimate my force. Apart from the screaming of the movie in the other room, we are silent. I glance down at my feet, stationed apart in a defensive stance I don't remember moving into. Then back up; Zack's face is as red as I imagine mine is. His hand covers the side of his face, while his other one nervously twitches at his side.

"Ow," we say at the same time. My strained nerves break, and I burst into laughter, bringing my hand protectively over my mouth; it also blocks out the vibrant blush growing. "You _bit_ me."

"Well—you slapped me!" he counters resentfully. I see a red handprint on his cheek.

"_You_—" I can't even finish the sentence; my awkward chuckling ceases, and I'm left standing there, hand shielding my mouth, unsure of what to think. "Y—you've obviously never done something like that before, have you?"

"Neither have you, I suppose," he answers sheepishly. When I don't answer, he adds hesitantly, "…Good or bad?"

"_Bad_," I respond. "I mean, I'm not sure how that's really supposed to go, but that—" I stop and exhale in a breathy laugh. "Not good."

"C—can I try again?"

I shake my head. "No thanks."

"You're laughing at me," he accuses, looking absolutely mortified.

"I'm not, I'm not, I swear." The protest leaves my mouth as I continue to laugh. "I just—need a few minutes." And with that, I turn around and walk away, flinching as somebody on the movie gets massacred, and then I break into a run in the direction of my room. I fly past the doorframe and close it as quietly as I can. Then, for a few seconds, I stare at my hands on the handle.

_Oh my gosh._

I walk over and sit on the bed. What just happened sinks into my brain. I just had my first kiss. I'm not sure how to feel—I mean, he did do it rather forcefully. We haven't known each other for very long. I'm in a spot where I don't want to date. I'm not sure about my feelings for him. I still haven't worked out my feelings for Josh.

Someone knocks. After staring at the back of the door for a few minutes, wondering why they won't come in, I realize I haven't invited them to. That means it's probably Canada, but it also could be Zack. "Come in," I say, voice quieter than I planned.

It's Canada. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hi."I realize I have my hands clamped over my mouth—that could contribute as to why my voice was so quiet—and I let them fall to my lap. My face is still hot.

"I saw what just happened," he informs me gently. "Do—...do you need to talk about it?"

"I—I—…just—"I stop trying to talk and just shake my head. "Mm-nn."

"Issa, you're crying." He moves a bit closer sympathetically.

I unconsciously flinch and stand up, facing him like he's a threat, flinging one forearm in front of me to defend, and holding the other arm in a ready-position to punch. Then I shake my head and snap out of it, rubbing my eyes. "I am not," I deny, even though he can see the tears plain as day.

When I moved so suddenly and quickly, he moved back and put his hands up. I think he was trying to show he's not a threat. I wonder what he makes of me; this strange human girl who knows about the nations, found the precise moment when the Axis's guard was down and jumped on it, who thinks she's hiding her feelings for the sake of those around her, when she's actually not. What does the gentle giant think of a feral, emotional, damaged human like me? Why is he going through such lengths to make me feel secure?

"It's okay," he tells me, not moving. "You're safe now, remember? Nobody's going to hurt you."

"I know," I squeak, hugging myself. "I—I just—….I dunno. I dunno why I'm crying. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says again, cautiously moving closer. When he hugs me, I let him, and I hug him back. He's taller than me by about a head, so I bury my face in his chest.

"I just don't understand—I mean—I can't tell if I'm happy o—or sad—I just don't know…!" I hear myself sob. I pull back slightly, holding one hand over my eyes so I don't get my tears on his sweatshirt. "I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," he says. That' what I like about Canadians: when you say sorry excessively, they don't get mad at you and tell you to stop apologizing; they just say, "It's okay" and continue on with the conversation.

"Thank you," I respond. I take a deep breath and stop crying, taking a few more steps back and wiping my eyes. I also have to clean my glasses on the edge of my shirt. "I'm—I'm just going to go for a walk."

"O—oh. Okay," he says, albeit a bit skeptically. I nod, wipe my face of emotion, and walk out of the room. I'm aware that he trails me for a little bit, but he stops. I open the door and am in the doorway when America pipes up, "Hey—Issa, what'cha doing?"

"Going for a walk," I state simply. "I'll be back soon." And then I leave before anyone can stop me.

I'm wearing the same clothes from yesterday—a navy blue pull-over hoodie over a blue and red checkered over shirt with jeans and my ratty old Converse. It's cold; I mean, I don't know what I expected. It's winter. It's also nighttime. Of course it's going to be cold.

I stick my hands in my pocket and keep walking. My breath fogs around my face. At least my hair covers the tips of my ears. The coolness of the air does feel very nice on my injury, however.

Why did I get so emotional? I was scared—but why? There's nothing for me to be afraid of. I think it's because I'm almost fully convinced no one could ever possibly find me attractive, much less make a move on me. I guess I'm scared that he doesn't really mean it. Or maybe we'll actually build a relationship, and then something will go wrong and he'll leave me. I'm used to people leaving me. But that doesn't mean it's not painful.

Relationships never usually last long with me, romantic or otherwise. I mean—I've never had a romantic relationship. It's hard enough for me to make friends, much less potential mates. I've noticed certain stages people go through around me—first they think I'm just a mysterious, creative being. Then, I get weird because I have the crazy, stupid idea that they might like me. Then they get tired of me, but nobody ever tells me when that stage happens. If I don't figure it out soon enough, I start accidentally hearing conversations about how retarded I am. That's what's bound to happen with Zack. Sooner or later, he'll realize I'm not all I seem to be. Most of the time, people hate the first impression and then like the inside of the person; I just don't understand why I'm the exact opposite of that.

I realize I don't know where I am. Exhaling a long breath through my mouth, I backtrack. With a start, I realize there's someone standing about a hundred feet behind me.

I take a gulp and keep walking—it's probably just a—nighttime jogger of sorts? I don't know. But I keep my hands clenched in my pockets. "Good evening," I say softly as I pass, starting to head back to the house.

"Good evening, Ms. Pryce," the man says. I stifle a gasp as I recognize the voice, and I whirl around, ready to defend myself.

It's General Victor Hughes.

I spin back around and break into a sprint. He's chasing me. Adrenaline rushes into my bloodstream, giving me staying power and speed. He's still gaining. I just know someone's going to pop out—there's no way he'll be out here in D.C. by himself.

And pop out someone does. I'm about half a block away from America's house when a tall figure steps from the bushes directly into my way. I don't notice him until I run straight into his chest, and then he restrains me with his arms.

I don't even have to look at his face to know it's Germany. He smells the same as before—like beer and vanilla. The way his body is shaped is also something I've learned to be afraid of. I whip my head to the side after realizing I'm stuck and scream. I'm able to make a siren for five straight seconds when Hughes catches up and puts his gloved hand over my mouth, muffling my yell. I yelp and wince, because his fingers are right on my healing cut.

Germany passes me to him. He pins my arms to my sides with his remaining arm and starts pulling me towards the nightmare-esque black van that pulls to a halt next to us. I'm still struggling and screaming as loud as I can, terror pulsing through my veins. I can't go back there. I can't. _I can't go back there._

I hear a distant shout before I am pushed into the van: "ISSA?" It's America—I can tell the difference between him and everyone else.

I bite Hughes's hand. When he flinches away for a second, I scream, "_HELP!"_

It's no use. I'm in the van, practically on Hughes's lap as I thrash and flail my legs. The door slams. The van jerks forward, taking off into the night. Germany's hand clamps over my mouth and nose, and the too-familiar smell of chloroform invades my nostrils. I try to yell again, but my voice gives out on me. My whole body gives out on me. Then my mind gives out, and I fall into unconsciousness.


	13. Chloromonoxide

Slowly, I come to. I'm lying on my back on a concrete floor with dust that tickles my nose. There's something on my wrists—a zip tie. It's not an improvement to duct tape; at least duct tape gives you a little bit of leeway. This is like having a rock around my wrists.

I can't see. Why is that? There's a thick cloth blindfold over my eyes, and they made sure I can't even see anything from where my nose connects with my face. A gag of the same material rests between my lips, looping over my ears to tie in a hard knot at the back of my head. Like I said, zip tie around my wrists. Judging by the flexibility, there is also a zip tie around my ankles.

I take a moment to pray. I am in real danger right now. In fact, the entire world is in danger. I don't think he's taken any of my blood yet; there's no soreness or dizziness that accompany having blood drawn. But…soon…lots of people might be dead…and it will be all my fault….

I wonder if this will work…. I've heard of some way to break zip ties...I'm just lucky they decided it would be a good idea to tie my hands in front of me instead of behind. Positioning myself on my knees, I clasp my fingers together and bring the insides of my arms hard against my hips.

There's a sharp pain on my wrists and, obviously, on my waist. But it worked—my hands are free. I take the blindfold from my eyes and the gag from my mouth and start wondering what I'm going to do about my ankles. I don't know where my glasses are; they're not on my person. But I squint at my legs and kick and pull at the zip tie until it eventually snaps.

The room is dimly lit with one ceiling light, windowless, and dirty. I'm alone. The door's right there, though, so, trying to control my jerky movements, I reach for the doorknob and slowly turn it, careful not to make a sound. I'm glad it's unlocked.

But the thought is ripped from my mind, because as soon as I step into the bright hallway, the soldier standing in front of the door lunges for me. I gasp and backtrack into the room, but he's got a hold on my shirt. The man yells at me. The fact that I'm already scared stiff helps him, because I don't fight when he ties me up again, this time with my hands behind my back. He ties the blindfold around my eyes again and shoves me down hard on the floor. I yelp in pain as my hip comes into contact with the concrete floor, and then my shoulder, and then the side of my head. The soldier barks the German equivalent of "Shut up," at me, planting a kick into my stomach.

I shouldn't have tried to escape. I should've just laid there and waited. Now, things will be worse. Things are already worse. They're not afraid to hurt me now as long as my blood stays in my body. The only one not afraid to beat me into place last time was Germany, and that wasn't in the plan—Japan kept scolding him. I bring my knees as close as I can to my body, whimpering a bit at the ache in my stomach and the places where I hit the floor.

After the soldier leaves, I cry for a little bit with remorse and pain and sadness and fear and homesickness and several other emotions. Then I just lie there, still curled up where I fell. I'm in the room for at least three more hours. Maybe more. Either way, it's enough time for the tears to dry.

There's a sound like a door opening. I become rigid and listen to the footsteps that come closer, to the soft nonsense words in horrifyingly familiar voices. A foot presses down on my shoulder, and Germany's voice jeers at me. My breathing quickens, but I don't dare move or make the slightest protesting sound.

The foot leaves, but hands grab me and lift me in the air bridal-style. I keep my head up as opposed to leaving it flopping everywhere, but I let the rest of my body remain limp. I keep my ears open; the other person isn't Japan, like I originally thought; I don't recognize the voice at all. Some random soldier. Different from the first one. Sounds young. German. He sounds like he's trying too hard to be helpful.

Finally, I'm placed down feet-first. I wobble a little bit because I have no control of my legs, but a hand remains on my shoulder to keep me upright. Something cuts through my zip tie. Before I can do anything with my freed hands, the hand on my shoulder pushes me down onto a wooden chair, and the person secures only my left hand to the armrest. I'm left with the original blindfold, gag, ankle restraints, and one free hand.

But the hand grabs my hand and extends my pointer finger. I flinch slightly as something pricks it, and then wipes the drop of blood away. A blood test. Just making sure I am what they think I am. And apparently, I am exactly what they think I am.

The person lets go of my hand, and I immediately curl it into a fist and pull it closer to me. But he forces me to extend my arm, and he takes a knife and severs my sleeve from the elbow down, exposing my limb. More importantly, my artery. He wasn't gentle when removing my sleeve, so I'm bleeding from a few shallow cuts around the inside and outside of my elbow. Then, some sort of restraint pins my wrist to the armrest so that my palm is facing up. There's no warning, so I flinch again as a needle is inserted into the fleshy white part of the inside of my appendage. It hurts, but I remain still. The needle disappears for a second; there's a clinking sound, and then it returns, claiming a second vial of my unique blood.

The hand grabs my blindfold and rips it off. The world is out of focus until Germany shoves my glasses on my face. The soldier with him is an over-excited young man with a plethora of freckles, black hair, and a wide forehead. He's so animated that he forgets he's not supposed to smile at me. The room is white and sterile and there's a window in front of me looking into another room. It's empty of people, but there's some contraption of sorts a couple feet away from the glass. Germany, without looking at me, picks up a vial of my blood and extracts one CC. However much one CC is. He disappears for a minute and shows up in the window's room. He puts the blood in the top of the machine. There's already some blood in a different glass container under the one with my blood. I wonder whose it is. I wonder why he's letting me see now.

He comes back into the room. I realize I'm, like, _really_ dizzy. I've heard that giving blood makes you dizzy, but I've never given blood before, so this type of lightheadedness is foreign to me. Germany has a remote in his hand. He's about to push a button when the door is flung open.

Once again, I'm expecting Japan, and, once again, I'm wrong. It's a man I don't recognize at first. He's not in the German soldier's uniform, and he doesn't respectfully greet Germany like all the others do. He has black hair and glasses and he looks barely out of his teens. It suddenly hits me—I'm looking at Austria.

He comes storming in the room, blabbering nonsense in what sounds vaguely like Japanese over the pounding of blood in my ears. He's angry about something. He keeps looking at me, gesturing at me, and—wait—he starts trying to untie me.

Germany nearly drops the remote. He comes over, throws Austria's hand away from me, and takes a second to tighten my bonds. Then he takes the remote again, and in a triumphant, "hey, watch me," voice, he says something, and he presses the button. The machine in the back room starts moving. It releases exactly one drop of my blood into the open container of the other blood.

Nothing happens.

Germany is certainly confused. He presses the button again, and the machine frees another drop of my blood, and nothing happens again. He turns on me for some reason, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling it up, making me look at him. He starts yelling at me, and I'm not sure what he's saying, and, frankly, I don't care; I just want him to let go of me.

Austria shoos him away from me with big flapping arm movements. He gently removes the gag from my mouth before Germany can protest, and he asks me, "_Nihongo ga wakarimasu ka?"_ **(Do you understand Japanese?)**

His eyes are a mesmerizing shade of violet. "_Su—sukoshi,"_ I mumble. **(A little.)**

"_Namae wa?" _**(What's your name?)**

"_Isabella desu,_" I respond. I try looking around, but my vision is out of focus, and it's not my glasses' fault.

"_Anata wa daijoubu desu ka?" _He looks genuinely concerned, his eyes raking my cheek. I hesitate, glance over at Germany, who has his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face, and I shake my head. Austria isn't convinced. He snaps at Germany, and Germany snaps back. Then Austria looks at me and says, "_Hontou,"_ in a disbelieving tone. It's like he thinks I'm lying because I'm afraid of Germany. **(Are you okay? Really.)**

"_Su—Sukoshi furafura desu…,"_ I answer truthfully, not really sure if what I said was grammatically correct. **(I—I'm a little dizzy….)**

He starts talking again, half to me and half to Germany while he unties my wrists. Then, stealing the knife from the tray next to me that I didn't really pay attention to, he cuts the zip tie around my ankles. Then he gestures for me to stand up. I do, and almost immediately, Germany pushes me back down, snarling at the other. I don't know what Austria says to calm him down, but he does, and he lets me stand up.

After nearly falling over, stopping myself by leaning on Austria for a second, and apologizing for leaning on Austria for a second, he leads me out of the room. He notices that I'm a little bit hesitant to follow him, glancing backwards every so often, walking slowly. He puts up with it, though, slowing his pace to match mine.

I don't understand; Germany is letting me go? Just like that?

I don't really fight against Austria; there's no reason to. I'd rather be with him than with Germany or Japan, or even Italy, for that matter. I am nervous, though; Austria had to convince him to let me go. On what conditions? Why is he letting me out of his sight, perhaps even out of his reach? No, he still would have to have access to me in order for Austria to take me; that's definitely part of the deal. But what else…?

"_Watashi wa Roderich Edelstein. Hajimemashite, Isabella,"_ Austria tells me after leaving the building, like he just remembered that he didn't introduce himself. **(I am Roderich Edelstein. It's nice to meet you, Isabella.)**

"_Wakarimasu. Anata wa Austria desu. Doozo yoroshiku,"_ I reply. **(I know. You're Austria. Nice to meet you, too.)**

He whirls around to look at me in shock. "_Nani—?"_ **(What—?)**

I shrug half-heartedly in answer, left hand rubbing my bare right arm. It kind of hurts. And it's really freaking cold outside, and I'm only wearing a mutilated sweatshirt.

Austria reluctantly drops the issue and ushers me into the backseat of his car. He goes around and gets in his side and drives off. I turn around to look out the back window at the building I was able to leave so easily. I still don't understand.

There's about twenty or so minutes of uncomfortable silence. I stare at the inside of my exposed arm, at the little welts from which blood was drawn. I don't know what the point is in taking me somewhere. Germany has my blood. Now, he can destroy the world. Are two vials of my blood enough to kill everyone?

Then it hits me—that's why he wanted me to see. He wanted me to watch the test explosion. I don't know why—maybe to show that everything is hopeless and I can't do anything about it.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

But it didn't work. I don't know why it didn't work, but it didn't. What went wrong? He had my blood and the blood of a nation, which, as far as I know, are the only two ingredients in the world-destroying bomb recipe.

Before I can think more about that, Austria teleports. I only flinch because I wasn't expecting it. When we emerge in a completely different environment, I notice Austria watching me. "_Anata wa hontou odayaka desu." _**(You are very calm.)**

I'm not sure how to respond—does he mean, like, in general, or the fact that we just teleported and I accepted it just like that? "_A—America to Canada wa watashi no tomodachi desu,"_ I inform him softly. I mean it in the way that I've teleported with them before, and that they'll find me. And I guess it explains how I know that he is Austria. **(America and Canada are my friends.)**

"_Sou desu ka?" _he says, sounding surprised. **(Is that so?)** I nod in answer and look out the window.

After about ten more minutes, he pulls up to a gigantic white mansion and parks the car in a lavish garage, and he opens the door for me to get out. I do, and then I follow him inside. We end up in some sort of laundry room, and then we go through the door at the end and continue to walk. Finally, he stops at a really big room, like a ballroom, but carpeted and with several poofy couches in front of a flat-screen TV. In the middle of the room is a white grand piano with a stool tucked under. I notice that it's spotless. Kinda funny.

Austria mutters, "_Koko ni todomaru,"_ and walks off. **(Stay here.)**

So I stay. I wander over to one of the windows and look out. It's snowy. I think this is Austria's house. I get bored very quickly, and I walk over and flop on one of the poofy couches so that I'm lying down. It's past my bedtime. But it's morning, here.

Tears well in the corners of my eyes. I screwed up. I screwed up so badly. People are going to die, and it's all my fault. I'm responsible for the thousands—millions, maybe—of deaths that may soon be occurring.

Austria comes back. A young woman trails behind him. She's wearing a white apron over a green dress, and her hair is a chestnut brown shade, held away from her face with a bandanna and a couple of flower clips. It's Hungary. I stand up and rub my uncovered arm, watching them and trying not to scowl or cry.

She greets me, and I greet her back, and she introduces herself as Elizabeta, and I introduce myself as Isabella. Austria kind of looks at me sideways, and then he asks me if I know who she really is. I nod, "_Hungary desu."_ **(She's Hungary.)**

Hungary takes a half-step back, alarmed. She's about to ask how I know that, when Austria says something about Canada and America. She doesn't look like she completely understands, but neither does anyone else, so what's the point?

They're talking, and I can't be sure if they're talking to me, or about me, or what, but I don't really care. I feel numb. I wonder if survivors will blame me for everyone's death. If there are any survivors.

Smiling now, Hungary takes a few steps forward. I look down and cast my gaze at the foot pedals of the piano, taking a half-step back. She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, and kindly puts her hand under my chin. She has a very motherly nature which I appreciate, so I raise my head to look at her. She has me tilt my head so she can examine my cheek wound. "_Doitsu,"_ I explain simply. **(Germany.)**

She nods and takes my hand. That simple gesture takes me by surprise: the only people who have been touching my hands lately are rough and inconsiderate, and they usually grab my wrist instead of my hand. But the hand touch symbolizes trust and friendship. I'm not sure I'd go so far to say Austria and Hungary are friends, but I come to the realization that I trust them.

Hungary leads me down the hall and up the stairs to a hospital-looking room. She motions for me to sit down on one of the cots, and I do, and she comes forward with a small, sharp pair of scissors. I remain expressionless, eyeing them wearily. But she tilts my head back and painstakingly cuts the stitches and removes the thread from my face. I don't realize this is what she's doing until she's done, showing me the broken black strings in her hand. I guess it was just time to take them out.

I've had stitches before. I was ten, and a friend and I were playing the Wii. I initially wanted to go out and play in the snow, but my friend really wanted to because she didn't have one and my family did; so, deciding that the snow would still be there when we were done, I agreed. We were playing the bowling game, goofing around, when I lost my grip on the remote on my overly exaggerated backswing. I didn't realize it was out of my grasp when I completed the swing, so it swung around from the safety band around my wrist and pushed my glasses into my face and knocked the battery out of the remote.

Of course, little low-tolerant me started screaming and crying, and I managed to successfully freak out my friend and bring my mom running. I was about to stop crying and say it didn't hurt that bad anymore when my mom suggested to herself that I might need stitches. So, then I started _bawling_. So she piled me, my friend, and five-year-old Renae into the car. Renae cried because I was crying. I managed to tell my friend goodbye, and my mom stopped to explain to her mom what happened briefly and that I'm going to be okay and we'll call them later, and then my family went to the hospital.

I don't remember much else; it was kind of a blur. Some kind doctor tried to make me laugh by telling me to think of something worse than needles, like broccoli, and I responded that I _liked_ broccoli, and he laughed and told me to think of Brussels sprouts instead. Some nurse held my hand as I lied on the table while the doctor gave me stitches. And later, after the stitches were in, a random stranger gave me a stuffed frog because I was still crying and generally shaken up. And I had to get the stitches taken out on Christmas; we didn't go back to the hospital to get them out. Mom just sat me down and cut them from my forehead. I still have the little scar, which disrupts my left eyebrow only slightly.

People were a lot nicer when I was ten.

Not much else happens. Hungary takes me back to the living room, and she and Austria try fruitlessly to communicate with me. Then they understand that I'm tired. I fall asleep on one of the couches, legs curled up. I'm not sure Austria appreciates that my dirty shoes are on his clean couch, but he doesn't protest. Only scowl from a distance. Well, he brought me here, so he can deal with me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I wake up, it's to a large, strong hand grabbing the collar of my sweatshirt and yanking me to my feet. I, not fully awake but already panicking, stumble backward, blinking rapidly, trying to wake up. My back hits the wall. There's a flash of light, and I feel the overwhelming sensation of something hard and small hitting me square in the chest.

I don't lose consciousness, but I land hard on the floor. I am unable to move or see or breathe for a few terrifying seconds. When I blink, it doesn't go dark, it goes white, and it's like I see words swirling around in my head. With a small _pop_, the words change into Japanese characters.

Slowly, I regain my sight and movement. I am lying on the floor. Standing a good thirty feet away from me, Japan lowers some sort of gun. Germany marches forward and drags me to my feet. Behind him, Austria and Hungary watch, concerned. "Can you understand me?" a husky voice growls.

"What?" I manage, looking around for the voice.

Germany's hand tightens on my collarbone. "Answer my question," he snarls, giving me a shake.

I look at him and squint in confusion. "_What?!"_

"I think it works," a softer voice throws in, coming from Japan.

"Great," the first voice responds, and then Germany shakes me again. "Whose blood triggers the bomb?!"

"Wait, wait, wait—_what_?!" I try to remove his arm from my shoulder, but he slams me against the wall.

"Answer me!" he shouts.

"I don't know!" I blurt, unable to think. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Germany," interrupts a female voice, quiet but firm. "That's enough. Let her go." It comes from Hungary. But it can't be Hungary. I can't understand Hungary. I can't understand anyone here. I don't know who I'm talking to.

"It's enough when I say it's enough," the voice coming from Germany answers coldly.

Then, I'm not quite sure what happens. From what I understand, Hungary takes the ray gun from Japan. Instead of shooting Germany, she breaks it over his head. Then, she pulls me by my sleeve away from him. "I said _that's enough."_

Instead of arguing with her or yelling at her, he points at her threateningly. "This isn't over," he warns. Then, staring me down, he and Japan exit. I notice Japan glances almost sadly at the broken remains of his gun thing.

"Are you okay?" Hungary asks me.

Still staring at the closed door, I answer, "…What?..." Then I realize. What came out of my mouth was not, "What?" It was, "_Nani?"_

I'm speaking Japanese. Not even trying to. It's coming out effortlessly, a different language. If I listen closely, the concerned mumbles between Hungary and Austria are Japanese, but I immediately translate in my head like they are speaking English.

"Wait—wait, wait, wait—wait—_what_—?!" I manage, clapping a hand over my mouth and alternating horrified stares at the two countries in front of me. "Th—this is—_insane_, this is freaking _insane_…!"

"Calm down," I realize Austria is telling me. So, hand still clamped over my mouth, I stand still, not looking at either of them, just focusing on my breathing. "I don't really have an explanation as to why you can suddenly understand Japanese."

"Japan made some sort of gun that switches your understanding of a certain language," Hungary throws in. "He explained it briefly when he came in."

I shakily lower my hands and take a deep breath, controlling myself. "I—I would freak out about this being impossible, but a—a lot of impossible things ha—have been happening in the last couple of days."

Hungary smiles and pats my shoulder. "You're a brave girl."

"Not brave, so much as easily adaptable," I mumble in response. "Why—….Never mind."

"Go on," Hungary encourages. "Don't be shy."

"Wh—why did you stop him?"

"He was being harsh with you," Hungary replies, as if that answer is obvious. "He's been acting that way a lot, recently…."

"I've noticed," I reply. Hungary laughs, and Austria chuckles lightly. I sober. "What did he mean? Why— …why didn't my blood work for him? Does that mean it doesn't work, or what?"

"Well, I'm assuming that you're the human with the exploding blood," Austria starts, and I nod, like, _yeah, a lot of people are assuming that. _"The legend isn't passed down very well, but I think there was one thing Germany forgot about—until recently, that is. It's not the blood of just any nation mixed with blood like yours; it has to be from the nation whom you first had physical contact with. At least, that's the rumor. I don't believe it."

"B—but if that's true, then it should be Germany," I say. "Judging by his episode or whatever, his didn't work….And then he'd make sure it's not Japan's or Italy's….I dunno how he's going to check anyone else's…."

"That's true…," Austria muses. "You'll just have to remember."

"I can't," I respond. "What if I was a baby? I'll never be able to remember that. We—...could go to my mom and show her pictures of the nations. She might remember."

"Does she know about what we are?" he asks.

"No," I respond, remembering how I lied to her and feeling guilty.

"Then we can't risk it."

"…Okay," I mumble. I was hoping I could go and see my family. I wasn't very nice to them over the phone, and maybe I could apologize in person. But I guess I can accept this; I won't be stuck here forever, after all.

"Our first priority right now is for you to remember," Austria says, all businesslike.

Hungary seems to disagree. "No, our first priority is to get those clothes of yours washed," she tells me, taking my hand and leading me away before Austria can disagree.

"I—I don't—" I protest vaguely.

"Oh, don't be silly," Hungary smiles. "You can't wear that forever." I look down at my clothes, my stubborn side instantly producing a snarky, _Yes I can._ But she's right. The sleeve of my sweatshirt is already fraying, and the dark blue fabric of it is covered in brown dust and dirt, courtesy of the concrete floor back at Germany's place. My jeans are in the same condition. My shoes have been in that state of disarray for a while now.

Hungary leads me to a room I imagine is hers. She's talking half to herself and half to me as she rummages through her closet. We're about the same body type, but she's curvier and a little bit taller. She produces a black dress with long sleeves and a white belt that comes down to my knees. I guess it's not bad, as far as dresses go, so I go to the bathroom and change into it; Hungary collects my clothes and runs off to wash them, giving me the instructions to go back to the living room with Austria.

I'm not so sure about spending bonding time with Austria, but I go anyway. He's playing the piano, oblivious to me, which I appreciate. I sit down on the couch and listen to the music. He's playing Moonlight Sonata. Resisting the urge to put my feet on the couch, I put my head down on the armrest and just listen. I have to remember the first nation I've touched.

After a few minutes, I only become frustrated. It should be Germany. I don't understand—the first nation to touch me was Germany at school, just before last period. I can remember date and time. It should be him. Maybe they were wrong about me. If so, can I just go home? I just want to go home and be safe.

The music stops. Austria looks back at me. "No luck?"

I shake my head solemnly. "No luck."

"Well, keep at it." I nod and look away, instead letting my mind wander as opposed to eventually crying out of irritation. I think of America and Canada, Kumajiro and Gilbird. Then to Zack and Josie. Then just to Zack. I'm not sure how I feel about him. I saved him. He thinks he can save me. But can anyone?

I stop thinking about Zack, and I start thinking about Josh. What's he doing right now? Is he hurt? Why does he care about me? He hasn't cared about me before, at school. I know I've thought about this multiple times before, but it baffles me. It shouldn't; we're in a life-or-death situation, and bonds are formed quickly. That's the simplest fact about humans, and that's it. There's no way that he can have feelings for me. Wait—do I have feelings for him? Of course not; that's ridiculous.

I start thinking about other things that make me sad. Like the day my dad died.

I was five-ish, so the details are a bit fuzzy. I can't believe it's been almost ten years. Anyway….Renae was born early that morning. Everyone was happy. I was confused; Dad said Mom was in the hospital, which was a bad thing, but everyone was happy because suddenly I had a sister. My main perplexity was the fact that there was no baby before, Mom goes to a place for sick people, and suddenly, there's a baby. Where did the baby come from? Five-year-old me had no idea. But I guess I accepted it.

Dad took me to go see Mom and Renae. Dad was cooing about how beautiful Renae was, and, of course, five-year-old me opened my big mouth and blurted how the baby didn't look so beautiful, and I got yelled at. Soon enough, though, Mom and Dad forgot about my being a little twerp and continued to love on baby Renae.

Dad and I went home. At the time, we lived close enough to the hospital to walk, but we had to go down this dark alleyway. That was foreshadowing; don't go into a dark alleyway unless you're prepared to get mugged, right? Mom always warned that we should go around the alley on the main street. Guess what Dad did.

All I remember was that there was a man suddenly, dressed in black with some sort of ripped black sock over his face. Dad was afraid of him, but he seemed funny to me. Funny-looking. Dad actually did give him his wallet; that part I remember, because he had to set me on the ground to get his wallet out and toss it to the man. The man looked through his wallet, pulled out a strange metal thing out of his pocket, and there was a loud noise.

Dad screamed, so I screamed. He fell over. The man ran away. I noticed there was blood all over his shirt, and I was confused—could I get him a Bandaid? Because Bandaids were what fixed you when you bled.

Dad touched my face and told me everything was going to be alright. He seemed so sure of himself that I believed him for a while. He told me to tell Mommy he loved her, and to take care of Renae, and to take care of myself, and that I needed to be brave. I asked him why, that everything was okay because you said so. He said he was going away, and I said that was silly because he was lying right there, or are you going on a busyness trip? He smiled and gave a breathy laugh and said yes, he was going on a business trip, and he'd be gone for a long time. I asked when he was leaving. He looked up at the sky and swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and scratchy. He told me he was leaving very soon. And he told me he loved me, and I said I loved him too, and then his hand fell down, and his eyes closed.

I remember the few minutes after that. I kept pulling on his jacket, insisting that he can't sleep there because it's dirty, that he had to go on his busyness trip, that he opened his eyes, that he needed to get up. I spent at least five minutes there, kneeling next to him, pulling on his jacket and his hair and his eyelids and begging him to get up, we gotta go home, I don't want you to play dead anymore, and it hit me—he must've been dead. That's where my memories start getting fuzzy.

Someone found me there, crying and pulling on his bloodstained jacket, the same substance covering my chubby little five-year-old hands. The man picked me up and carried me past the crowd of anxious bystanders into the hospital. Some other people kind of blocked the crowd so they wouldn't disrupt the evidence or whatever. The man spoke a funny language that I didn't understand. A nurse spoke it. I guess the man explained what he saw. I just cried and buried my face into the man's coat until they brought me to Mom. I still don't know who he is. But I remember how he smelled—like garlic and—

…Garlic…and cappuccino….

It hits me.

I raise my head and stand so fast Austria starts to ask if I hurt my neck, but I cut him off. "It's Italy."

Austria looked solemnly interested. "You're sure?"

"Yes," I nod firmly.

"Absolutely? You can't be wrong about this, you know."

"I'm _positive_," I confirm. "It's Italy."

"Then," Austria sighs, thinking hard, "we might have a problem."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Josh's POV

I watch as Dimah and Harvey are herded out of the room. Am—…am I supposed to follow them? Evidently not—as soon as I start forward, Germany puts his hand on my shoulder and shoves me back. I would've lost my balance if it wasn't for the wall. But as the back of my already-hurting head hits the barrier, black spots form over my eyes and I'm rendered helpless once again. I hear Dimah growl, as I notice he does often when he's angry and can't do anything about it. When I my vision returns, I see that Germany has his Taser out, and he mimicked zapping the Russian with it, which said Russian did not find very amusing.

Germany takes the hood of my sweatshirt and pulls me out of the room. I don't bother glancing back at Antonio because I know he's not going to do anything. I'm not really sure how I end up sitting in the van in which I was first taken, but here I am. My head hurts a lot, and it's really hard to see. Something happens where a light flashes and it feels like I'm falling when I'm actually not, and then everything rights itself and everything turns back to snow instead of tomato fields.

Japan pulls me out of the car. A soldier takes over and yanks me by my upper arm down a flight of stairs and into a dark room. He shackles me to the wall and leaves. I'm left standing there, confused.

I jump as a voice rings through the silence. "Hello, there."

"Wh—who—?" I manage, pulling on the chains as far away from the voice as I can.

"Sorry to startle you," the hidden man apologizes. "…Am I right in assuming that you're Josh? Davies, was it?"

"Uh—" I stutter. "Wh—who's asking?"

"Sorry—I'm England. Issa's told me a lot about you."

Her name makes my heart skip a beat. "You know Issa?"

"Yes," he responds patiently. "Sweet girl. Bit reckless. Bit mousy."

"Th—that's her…," I confirm. "Is she okay? I thought she got out."

"She did, last I heard. I—" England stops and coughs violently. I hear his chains clink around through the darkness.

"Are… you okay?" I ask, confused.

"Yes, I—I'm—" and he hacks again. "Sorry 'bout that. M'okay…."

"Okay…," I say, not really believing him. He's quiet for a while. I sit down and place my hand protectively over the back of my head. "So what'd he do to you?" I ask after a while.

"Well." He stops for a while to cough again. "Nothing much. Got whipped a couple times. What's making me cough is called chloromonoxide."

"…What's that?" I ask, sounding stupid.

"Nothing—…nothing bad. Just annoying…." I think he's lying, but my mind isn't the sharpest right about now. "Are you hurt at all?"

"Yeah," I grunt. "M' head hurts. I dunno if I've got a concussion, or what, but it hurts."

"We'll be out of here soon enough," he promises.

I just sigh, not really believing him. I'm scared and in pain and homesick and I just want to be left alone. My mind wanders back to Harvey and Dimah; what happened to them? Do they just, like, not need them anymore? Why do they still need me?

After about two hours of shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor, I manage to fall asleep. I don't sleep well; nightmares plague my unconscious brain.

In the dream, I'm in some sort of coffin. I'm not claustrophobic, but the air is stale and muggy, and I can barely move, and so I start thrashing. Eventually, I break free. My dream-self is aware of my bleeding hands, but there's no pain; I guess the blood was just something even in my subconscious I can't overlook. I mean, I clawed my way out; there are broken bits of wood everywhere. There's going to be blood.

I'm in a deep hole in the ground. The sides of the indentation are muddy and slippery, and even when I try to jump up to grab the edges or some sort of handhold, I fall back down. Also, the more I struggle against the dirt, the farther away the sky seems to get. I wake up sweating and shaking, sure that I'm suffocating in the hole in the ground somewhere my family will never find me. I guess it's not much of an improvement; I'm in the basement of wherever I am with the sense of restriction and imprisonment looming constantly in my subconscious.

"Wh' time's it?" I slur, rubbing my eyes. The shackles around my wrists clink loudly in my tired ears, and I wince. England doesn't answer. "Hey—dude? Wait, is it okay if I call you dude?" He still doesn't answer, so I assume he's sleeping, taking into account that I can't see my hand an inch away from my face.

England sleeps for a long time. I dunno how long. I dunno how long I slept, either. For all I know, England could actually not be in here, and I've been talking to myself. I dunno, though. I dunno anything. For the next few hours, I drift in and out of consciousness, waking only to say a couple unintelligent phrases to England, even though he doesn't respond, and falling asleep only to be woken a few minutes later with bad dreams.

Then, I hear something. It's the sound of gunfire and people screaming. "England," I say urgently. "Wake up. Dude. England. Something's happening. Dude! C'mon!" I stretch my legs through the darkness towards where his voice was, searching with my foot for a crumpled form.

The door opens. Well, someone slams it open. The light from the hall is blinding, and there is a silhouette of a blond man dressed in green and my breath catches because I'm sure it's Germany and now something terrible is going to happen. Either he'll take me and—I dunno, beat me up, or something. Or he'll take England and I'll be alone.

But when I can make out a face, it's not Germany, which surprises me. It's a different man. His hair is longer, and he carries two pistols. He barks something at me in German, and I just shake my head, sure that it's some soldier out of uniform. Voice sounds familiar, though. The man marches over to England.

I have to stop and just look at England. I've never seen him not animated. This is really, really weird, for lack of better adjectives. It's like I'm looking into a mirror. England's curled up in a ball, arms tightly pressed against his chest. He has a trickle of blood dried on the corner of his mouth. I've heard that he coughs up blood sometimes, but seeing it is disturbing.

Anyway, the man puts the pistols in their holsters at his belt and shakes England awake by his shoulders. "Huh—what?" he stutters, finally throwing up his hands to protect his head. The man talks to England, and England grins like a little kid and claps the man's shoulder proudly. The man, not amused, starts picking the locks to the chains. When he's done with that, he turns to me. I'm too confused to stop him from taking my wrists and insert the pins into the keyhole. I look to England for an explanation. "Oh," he says, noticing my helpless expression. "This is Switzerland. You know who he is?" I nod, and he nods, and he starts trying to stand.

Almost immediately, England falls down again. Switzerland just groans, throws England's arm over his shoulder, and lifts him up, supporting his nearly dead weight. What's wrong with him? Why can't he stand by himself?

After being beckoned up, Switzerland has me follow him through the door. There's no one there. I could've sworn there was a mass of soldiers using this hall.

Anyway, we go through several hallways, and I'm getting pretty cocky. This is awesome; we're escaping. Like, where is everyone? Too stupid to notice the breakout? But I turn a corner, and there's a loud _bang_, and then pain explodes in my shoulder.

I cry out and nearly fall over, clutching at my shoulder. When I pull my hand away, there's blood. I think I've been shot.

Switzerland stops only for a second to look at me, and I can almost see what he's thinking: "_Kid got shot. Is it fatal? Nope. Guess I gotta start shooting people now." _ And he takes one of the pistols out and fires a few shots around the corner. Someone yells. Then silence.

Switzerland makes a detour down a different hall. I follow, hand still clinging to my shoulder, not exactly sure how I'm feeling. I mean, it _hurts_. But I haven't had any instinct to, I dunno, cry or something stupid like that like I thought I would if I ever got shot. I just grit my teeth and keep moving.

We're out of the building. Heading for the woods. Running as fast as we can with injuries and England's dead weight. Something small and extremely fast penetrates the back of my calf a few yards away from the edge of the clearing. I cry out in pain again and fall over. Switzerland just helps me limp along, unfazed by any of this.

Suddenly—I'm not sure what happens, exactly. It's like everything around me stops. Switzerland and England are still normal, but everything else is like we're watching a war movie and someone hit pause. There are bullets in midair, nestled in the trunk of trees in the middle of splintering into a thousand little twigs.

Switzerland lowers England and me to the ground and sets his attention on something else. I focus on my breathing, left arm limp, right hand clutching left leg. Guess I'm _all right_ for now, then, huh? England's unconscious. I dunno when that happened to him. I'm still fascinated about how much we look alike. Do the rest of the lookalikes look like a copy image of their nation?

Switzerland bends and puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder and the other on England's limp wrist. There's a whooshing sound, and light's flash, and the overwhelming sense of falling injects panic into my worn mind. The only stable thing is Switzerland's hand.

Everything spins back into focus. Everything's changed. We're not in the middle of the woods getting shot at; we're in front of an enormous white mansion. Switzerland looks over at me and England, holds up his hand in a _just a second_ gesture to me, and goes up the steps and knocks on the door. A man with black hair and glasses opens the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Issa's POV

It's been a few hours since remembering about Italy. Unless the nations are ones who like to go around and hold random babies for charity events, the first nation to make physical contact with me was Italy. Austria and Hungary and I are seated around a table discussing plans, like how we should get Italy away from Germany, when the doorbell rings.

I freeze where I sit, staring at the back of the door like Germany is going to spring through and grab my hair and drag me away and kill everything. Austria, noticing, holds up his hand in a _wait_ gesture. Like, _don't freak out just yet._ He looks through the peephole. I guess it's not Germany, because he opens the door.

Immediately, I hear a familiar voice barking angry words at Austria. "I told you. I _freaking_ told you so. Germany's been up to something suspicious, and y'know what, Edelstein? Now I have _proof_." I assume it's Switzerland, judging by the voice and vocabulary. And after he says that, I can only imagine the dramatic arm swoosh back towards his evidence.

"Is that—" Austria starts, looking concerned at Switzerland's proof.

"Yep."

Austria waves Hungary over. I stand up and hover by the table, unsure of what I'm supposed to do. Hungary exits, and Austria says, "Well. I have a little bit of proof of my own."

Switzerland must be confused, because he doesn't come up with a clever comeback. He sticks his head inside, and then he sees me. I don't know what to make of his gaze as it passes over me, or what to do with my body language or expression.

Hungary returns. "Isabella, would you give me a hand?"

"Yeah—sure." I walk forward and meekly shrink past the newcomer outside, and I stop dead in my tracks as I see the two people lying in the snow. "…England? Josh?"

"Issa?" Josh looks scared and confused, and his arm is soaked in blood and so are his hands and the back of his leg.

"Oh my gosh, you're hurt!" I dash down the stairs and awkwardly kneel in front of him, still nervously babbling.

"Wait, wait, wait—" he stops me, leaning away from me, not looking eased in the slightest. "Why aren't you speaking English? You know I can't understand Japanese. What's going on, Issa…?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I just—" I shake my head. "Um. Japan. H—he—…." I can't think of ways to make him understand. Concentrating hard, I make myself form the English syllables. "Are—you—okay?" I think he understands, but I have a thick accent, like I've been speaking Japanese my whole life.

He looks away, at his shoulder and leg. Then he shakes his head. "Hurts," he grunts.

"Um." I move next to his right side and loop his arm around my shoulders. "Okay, one, two, three," I say, counting down to when I help him to his uninjured foot. He winces, and I apologize. Looking at Hungary, who is tending to unconscious England, "Are they okay? C—can you help them?"

"Yes," she says. Then, she looks down at England. "Well…. I can help your friend….I'm not so sure about England….I don't know what's happened to him…."

I nod, still eyeing his limp form sadly. This is my fault. Both of their injuries. They wouldn't be hurt if I hadn't escaped the first time.

Hungary gives me the instructions to take Josh to the room where I got my stitches out. I kind of have to remember it, but I find it eventually. Josh is gritting his teeth and clutching me tightly, unstable on his own feet, and he seems glad when he gets to sit down on the cot.

"C—…can you understand me?" Josh asks tentatively. I look at him and nod, giving him a little reassuring smile. "How come I can't understand you?" I shrug. "But it's not possible—if you actually are Issa, you should be able to speak English."

Hungary and Switzerland teamed up to bring England in, which interrupts our conversation. "He's okay, psychologically?" Hungary asks as Austria trails in.

"He doesn't think I'm me," I inform her, still a little bit shocked at the information.

"And there's no way for you to communicate with him?" she asks, looking concerned.

"I dunno—maybe I can write it out?"

"Paper and pens are in that drawer," Austria interjects, pointing at the cupboard. I nod and thank him and retrieve the material, and I scribble out the gist of the situation and hand the paper to Josh. He doesn't look very trusting as he takes the notebook from me, but as he reads, he gives a small, dark chuckle.

"I guess Japan could pull that off," he says. "Sorry."

I smile, like, _It's okay._ Hungary says, "Can you ask him to roll up his pants leg and take off his shirt?"

I hesitate a little, wondering if he'll be okay with that second part, but I nod and write down the message anyway. Josh exhales in an awkward laugh and says, "Sure," pulling the syllable out. I have to help him a little because he can't get his arm through his sleeve without moving his shoulder, which, by his reaction, hurts a lot.

Hungary pulls out a pair of tweezers and examines his shoulder. "This might hurt," she warns, half-forgetting that he can't understand her. I grab his hand as he gasps and cringes, but manages to stay still as Hungary removes the bullet still lodged in his shoulder.

When she pulls out the small metal ball, Josh is pale and breathing heavily, and his grip on my hand hurts; however, I don't dare let go. Hungary wraps a long bandage around him, going all the way across his chest for durability. She has him hold his arm close to his chest, maybe to keep it from moving and injuring his shoulder further. After pondering his dirty, dusty shirt, she tells me, "I'll find him a different shirt in a minute. Can you tell him that?" I nod and write it down, and, after he reads it, he asks me to thank her, which I do.

After taking out the second bullet from the back of his calf, she bandages that, too, and then she hands him some painkillers and a cup of water, which he accepts. Then she goes to help Switzerland and Austria find out what's wrong with England.

"Chloromonoxide," he says softly, looking at England between the nations surrounding him.

"What?" Hungary asks suddenly, looking at him. I guess the word is the same in both Japanese and English. "Did he say—"

"Chloromonoxide," I confirm, although the word sounds made-up to me.

All that she says is a blunt, "Uh-oh," with no other explanation. After that, she works faster, lifting England's eyelid to look at his eyes. Austria and Switzerland both have the "uh-oh" expression on their faces, as well.

I look at Josh and make a thumbs-down gesture, indicating the situation with England. "Not good, then?" he asks, looking at them. "He didn't tell me whatever that is was bad. He said it was just annoying."

I'm not sure what to say. I look down, and I realize that I'm still holding his hand. I don't let go, though. Neither does he. I hug him around his waist, gently resting my head in the crook of his neck on his uninjured side. He wraps his right arm around me, burying his face into my shoulder. He sighs, and then, "Issa, it hurts."

"I'm sorry," I mumble. I think he knows that much, at least. "Sorry" equals "_Gomenesai."_

"Well," Hungary sighs, and I pull away from Josh. "That's all I can do with him." She laughs softly. "Never thought I'd be taking care of _England_." And she leaves, chuckling to herself.

"Now, here's what I don't get," Switzerland says. "What did England do to piss Germany off? And, seriously?" He makes an arm gesture towards Josh and me. "How do the humans mix in with this?"

"England was there because he knew where I was," I inform him quietly.

"So what's so important about _you_ that—" His eyes get big all of a sudden. "… Oh, crap. Don't tell me." His rude comment is cut off mid-sentence when the answer hit him like a train. "I thought that was a _myth_!"

"We all did," Austria comments. "But if we tell you the whole story, you can't remain neutral on this. This is a fight-or-die situation, and there'll be no backing out."

Switzerland seems to mull over his options. Then he reluctantly agrees to break neutrality. Curiosity is a stronger motivator than I thought. Anyway, he and Austria leave to go talk about it.

I sit on the cot next to Josh, who looks tired. "Austria and Switzerland and Hungary?" he asks. I remember that he wasn't introduced, and I nod, and he laughs. "Funny. Didn't think they'd want anything to do with the likes of us." I simply shrug. _They noticed Germany's weird behavior and went to investigate. I think they had a bet going on. Who can find proof first._

"Oh," he says simply. "So, how's life been for you?" He asked that with the full knowledge that life has _not_ been treating me very well; he's just trying to break the tension.

I point at him, and then hold up one finger. "You first," I say, though he can't understand me.

"Me first," he says, understanding the gesture. "Well. After you—left—no, don't be sorry." I made a cringing face, like, _I'm so sorry_. I nod, and he continues. "After you left, Germany and Japan and Italy and a soldier or two came in and roughed us up a little. No, not too bad. Dimah got tased, and Harvey got a bloody nose, but that's it. Then, like, a long time after that, there was like, an _army_." I nod and raise my eyebrows, like, _no duh; who d'you think brought it together?_

"That's where I got—"and he gently taps the back of his head. "And I assume I don't have a concussion. Still hurts, though. Makes me dizzy, sometimes."

"Sorry," I throw in, albeit a bit uselessly.

"Nah, it's whatever. Then, they took us to Spain. For some weird reason. I have absolutely no idea what they were thinking in that. I guess they thought Spain would help them, and Spain wasn't a place they expected us to go?" I shrug, and he nods to himself and scratches his face. "Then they took just me back to Germany. I dunno what they did with Harvey and Dimah…."

I can tell it bothers him, not knowing what happened to them, so I apologize fruitlessly again, and he dismisses it again. "And then Switzerland came and broke us out, and here we are."

I nod and process the information. Then I take the notebook and start writing. Josh keeps reading it out loud before I'm finished. "'I'm…not…America's….' What do you mean you're not America's lookalike? Why else would they take you? You're…. Oh. Heh. Actually, that's kind of funny." I guess it's kinda mean to Canada, but they seriously forgot about how much Canada looks like America. I write down how we found Zack and saved him. I leave out the kissing part. Then, I tell him about my blood.

"That's freaky," he comments seriously. "Like, _really_ freaky. So I'm assuming that's got something to do with why we're here in Austria instead of America with that Zack kid and Canada?" I nod and write down how I stupidly decided to go for a walk and they were waiting for me to just step out of America and Canada's reach before taking me again.

"So, is there, like, no way to get them from not stalking you?" he jokes. I give a small snicker and shake my head.

There's a moment of silence. I hesitate and write, _I think that's why they kept you instead of leaving you with Harvey and Dimah. Because we're friends, and you're leverage. Just in case I didn't behave myself._

"I guess that makes sense," he says, pondering. "Do you think—like, if we hadn't escaped—…I dunno. What d'you think he'd do to me?"

I shake my head and shrug simultaneously, frowning. I don't want to think about that.

Josh sighs and lies back on the cot. After a moment, he moves up so that his legs aren't dangling over the edge. He stares at the ceiling for a second. "I'm tired." I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I remain silent. He looks at me. "C'mere."And he shifts over a little, patting the empty space beside him.

I lie down next to him on my side, throwing my arm around his stomach, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad you're safe," I mumble into the bandage around his chest.

"That's cool," he responds lightheartedly, not understanding anything. I just giggle.

Hungary comes in. "Knock knock," she says, coming in. I sit up, and Josh props himself up on his right elbow. "Brought the shirt."

The shirt is a white button-up. I think it was Austria's at one point in time. Anyway, we help him put it on so he doesn't have to move his shoulder. He buttons it himself.

"I've called America," Hungary tells me as she rummages through a drawer. "He says he'll be here soon with Canada and two others. I forgot their names. Speaking of names—what's his?" Hungary asks, nodding at Josh.

"Josh Davies," I tell her. He looks up questioningly at his name, but the reason seems to cross his mind, and he says, "Hi there," and fiddles anxiously with a button on the shirt.

"Nice to meet you," she smiles kindly. Josh nods and returns the smile; I think he gets the gist of it. She finds what she was looking for: a blue sling. She helps him put it on. I guess it helps because he doesn't have to move his shoulder. After that, she leaves. Josh and I talk. Well, he talks, and I write down my response. About half an hour passes, and Hungary pokes her head in again to announce that they're here.

_Ready to meet America and Canada?_ I ask. He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. I smile at him and hold up my hand in a _just a second_ gesture, and I leave. America and Canada are talking to Austria and Switzerland, and Zack and Josie are hovering, looking apprehensive.

I run in and attack Canada first with my hugging. He lets out a small, "Oh!" as I almost bowl him over, but he rights himself with a laugh and squeezes me back, petting my hair. "Are you okay?" he asks in English.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I answer into his fluffy coat. America exclaims, "Hey!" and joins in on the embrace. I don't think Zack and Josie do, however.

After we break it up, America puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye, and, with a deadly serious tone, he tells me, "You're grounded from going on walks at night by yourself. Just so you know."

I laugh. "I figured."

He squints at me suddenly, cocking his head to the side. "Have you been speaking in Japanese all this time?"

"Yep."

"We'll explain," Austria cuts in. And when he does, going into full detail, I lose interest and turn to Zack and Josie.

"Hi," he says a bit sheepishly. I answer, "Yes," because I know that it sounds like "hi" in English, and that'll be easier. After a few seconds of awkwardly standing there, I hug him, trying to send to him the message that I'm not mad at him. He seems relieved at that.

Then I'm not sure what to do, so I take Zack and Josie by the hand, announce quietly to Canada that I'm going back to Josh, and then go. Upon my return, Josh perks up. Then he notices the two behind me. "Hi, yeah. Josh, this is Zack and Josie. Josie and Zack, Josh," I introduce.

"…Speak English?" Josh asks.

"Uh-huh. Nice to meet you, dude," Zack says, going forward to shake his hand. Josie just awkwardly waves from where she stands. "Heard a lot about you."

"Yeah?" Josh glances at me. "Like what?" Zack looks at me, like he's expecting me to answer. Josh gives him the extremely short version, "Something weird and stupid happened and now she can't speak English."

"Oh," he responds. Then, acting like he's talking about something completely not related, he says, "She almost cried when the army couldn't get you out of Germany."

"She can still understand English."

"What?" He looks at me. I nod and raise my eyebrows. "But I thought—"

"Like I said—weird and stupid." Josh shrugs. Then he looks at me. "You almost cried?"

I laugh and write down big on a clean piece of paper, _Almost?_

They laugh. Josh pretends to blush. "Aw, you're a doll."

"So," Zack asks, rubbing at his nose, "are you two like—a thing?"I look at Josh and he looks at me, and I shake my head. Josh mimics me. "Oh. 'Kay."

"Are _you_ two a thing?" Josh asks jokingly.

"No," Zack answers before I react. I'm not sure how I would've reacted. I've never thought I would ever run into a problem like this.

"Did you—"Josie starts. And she pauses, stepping closer to examine the dried blood on Josh's pants leg and the sling over the shirt. "Did you get _shot_?"

"Yup," he responds matter-of-factly. "Word of advice—don't get shot. It hurts. A _lot_."

"Never really planned on that," Zack answers. "So can you believe that these guys are, like, actual countries? Like, lived since that nation began kind of immortal?"

"It's all a bit unbelievable, yeah," Josh agrees. "I don't even have a theory as to how they exist."

"Yeah, and I bet it's not just a hoax courtesy of the government." Zack stops and awkwardly scratches his head. The tension is broken by the arrival of America and Canada.

I notice that America sort of stiffens when he sees Josh, but he seems to get over it, and he goes to shake his hand. Maybe it's because Josh looks so much like England. "Yo. I'm America. Good ol' US of A. Alfred F. Jones, if you like that better. Nice to meet'cha, bro."

"Josh Davies," he responds, glancing back at me, and then back to America. "Likewise."

"Ooh, you've got a big vocabulary," he notices. "'Likewise.' I'm gonna start saying that to look smart now."

"Hi," Canada offers. "I'm Matthew Williams, or Canada, I guess."

"I'm—Josh Davies, but I just said that. Nice to meet you." He looks at me again, and I wonder what he's thinking. The first look was kind of playfully accusatory, like, _I thought you said you weren't America's lookalike._ But that last one was more of an, _oh, wait,_ kind of look_._

There's a sudden soft groan from the cot next to Josh. America perks up, looking concerned, and he goes to hover over England. "Hey—dude? England? You okay, bro?"

I walk over to stand at the foot of his bed. His eyes slowly flutter open, not comprehending. England slowly focuses on America, and, unexpectedly, he flinches and scurries back until his back hits the wall.

"Dude—?" America asks, looking dejected.

"Get away from me," England blurts, looking terrified. "_Get away from me_." He's hyperventilating, chest heaving up and down quickly. His pupils contract, and his hands clench into fists.

"Hey, what's wrong with you, buddy?" America reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but England, instead of letting him, moving away, or hitting his hand, opens his mouth and lets out a bloodcurdling yell.

America flinches back, but England still screams. He only stops when America, Canada, and I, the closest, take several large steps back. Even then, he stares at us with horror in his forest-green eyes.

Hungary runs in. "What's going on?" she questions breathlessly. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just—"America looks helplessly at England, who cowers at us, knees curled up to his chest. Now that I stop to really look at him, I notice his skin is pasty white with little red blotches like freckles across his face. His hair is in disarray and missing the healthy shine that it had when I met him; now it just looks greasy. His clothes are dirty and wrinkled and bloodstained, and he has little shallow cuts and marks on his wrists, no doubt from being tied up. I can only stare at him in disbelief. What's wrong with him?! Doesn't he recognize us?!

"Try talking to him," Hungary suggests, standing next to me, armed with a clipboard and a pencil to take notes on his behavior.

"'Kay," America says. He takes a half-step forward. "Hey, England. Um, hi. What's up? You're acting weird, bro. You wanna, like, cut that out? It's kinda freaking me out, y'know? You do recognize me, right?"

England shifts his gaze to the nation talking. "You—you _do_ know who I am…. Right, England?" America insists, now looking desperate. "Right?!"

England takes a shaky breath through his nose as if to calm himself, and in response, he gives a single shake of his head.


	14. I took a knife for Vera, right?

**Hello my awesomesauce followers! **

**AWESOME PRUSSIA KISSES FOR THOSE WHO ARE AWESOME ENOUGH TO REVIEW CHAPTER 27! **

***Insert awesomely awesome kisses for Athesia, teenbooks4eva, Myrna Maeve, Procella, Kitty Sue96, Art and Soul, CelticGirl7, TheRoxrlShow, and nekoNamine***

**AAAND kikipalmer21 made me LEGIT FREAKIN CRY TEARS OF HAPPINESS with her review, so she gets an awesome kiss, AND an awesome hug from the awesome one himself! **

**Sorry that I made a cruel joke of making Issa sing Insanity while she was at England's insane bed! ^_^; **

**Okaaaayyyy...How would you all feel about Canada kisses? **

**(This is chapter 28, right? I LOST COUNT! .) **

**Imma be evil this chapter. Just FYI.**

Germany's POV

I peek a little around the corner. My dogs are anxious to go capture their victim, but I make them wait.

The girl I am tailing has elbow-length bronze hair that catches the light where it curls slightly on the ends as she bounces excitedly. Her familiar blue eyes sparkle with happiness, and with a slight pang, I think of Italy, and how he hasn't come to see me in a while.

...

There are more important things to worry about right now than Italy.

Finally, her stupid friend takes off in the other direction, leaving my prey to walk alone. Her small frame hunches over a little as sadness overcomes her merry expression. I see she misses her sister.

I chuckle under my breath a little. Don't worry, little girl. You shall see her soon...

I reach down and unclip my dogs' leash and they take off immediately. The fragile girl stops in her tracks as my faithfully growling German Shepard's surround her. Her breathing becoming sharper, she slowly reaches into her pockets for a metal tube. An inhaler.

She takes a breath from it, her fearful eyes never leaving the threat in front of her. I step from the shadows, smirking as her round eyes trail on me coming towards her. She takes a defensive stance, the inhaler still clutched tightly in her left hand.

What nerve! This small ten-year-old actually thought she had a chance against me? I see bravery ran in the family...

She tried to shuffle backwards, but my dog snapped at her heels, forcing her forward.

I smile at the terrified girl. She stuttered something in English, her voice as high as her body was small.

I continue advancing on her. Just as I was close enough to capture her, I say with malevolence, "Hello, Renae."

She opens her mouth to scream, but I get there first. I press a cloth with sleeping gas on it to her mouth, ignoring the desperate clawing at my hand. After a few seconds of squirming, she drops to the ground, unconscious.

I clip the leashes back on to my three, now happily panting dogs before tossing the limp girl over my shoulder. Children were so much easier to deal with when they were asleep. Now all I had to do was wait for Issa to take the decoy.

Renae's POV

I wake up to a weight on my chest. Thinking it was my Jack Russell Terrier, Oz, I try to lift my hands to push him off. Only problem was that I had lost the usage of my hands.

What was going on?

I try to open my eyes, finding it harder than it should be. When I can see, it startles me to know that I'm not in my bed, but in a completely unfamiliar room.

I am lying on a cot in a windowless room, my hands tied together. There was a piece of silver duct tape over my mouth. A strange dog was lying on my chest. It was a German Shepard puppy, and it was asleep.

I try to sit up. It takes a few tries, but eventually, I lift my tired body into a sitting position.

Why was I here? Where am I?

I sit there, thinking, when what happened yesterday hit me full-force.

Oh, no.

The snarling dogs. My asthma attack. The man coming from the alleyway that fit the description of the man who kidnapped Big Sister.

My breathing became shorter. Oh, no! Not here! Not now!

I franticly search around for my inhaler, causing the puppy to wake up with an indignant squeak.

Where was it? Where was it?

With a shallow sigh of relief, I see my inhaler lying on the pale green carpet. I peel off the duct tape with bound hands and take a deep breath from it.

When I can breathe again, I slump over. The puppy saunters over and looks up at me through brown eyes. It yips at me, and I pet its pointy ears. Its eyes close in pleasure, then open in defiance as I cease rubbing it.

I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest. What was going to happen to me?

A sob escapes my mouth, muffled from behind my legs. I feel a weak clawing on my foot. I peer over my knees through watery eyes to see the puppy wanting attention.

I sit cross-legged, my long hair spilling over my shoulders, hiding my now tearstained face. The puppy, a boy, I see, climbs onto my lap and begins chewing on my not-quite-brown, not-quite-red, not-quite-blonde locks.

"Hey, there," I murmur sadly. "What's your name, boy?"

He yips at me. Not exactly what I was looking for...

I remember what Issa told me. She had just come home from school, talking about how much she was learning in her new Japanese class.

XXXXXXXXXX

"_Renae!" Issa calls to me. _

_I look up from the bowl of Cheese-its I was eating to see my big sister bouncing through the front door. "What?"_

"_I'm in Japanese class!" She says excitedly. She had wanted to take Japanese ever since she started watching anime. _

"_Cool! Say something!" I ask eagerly. _

_She rummages through her 'Make pasta, not war' messenger bag and withdraws a spiral notebook decorated with tomato stickers. Flipping through it, she sits next to me, stopping at a page. I see words written in Issa's hardly legible handwriting. "What's it say?" I ask. _

_She scowls playfully at me. "How come I can read it, but you can't?" _

"_You wrote it, now translate," I demand, tugging on her shirt._

"_Okay, okay. Sheesh. 'Mizu' means water. 'Kaiteki' means comfort. 'Boushi' means hat," She continues on for a while, ending with, "...and 'daisuki dai yo' means I love you!"_

"_How do you say, 'Get your own cheese-its, dummy'?" I ask as I slap her hand away from my bowl. _

"_Ha, ha, ha," Issa faked a laugh as she stuffed a few cheesy crackers in her mouth. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Kaiteki..." I whimper. The dog barks at me. "Kaiteki? You like that name?" Bark. "Okay. I take that as a yes. Hello, Kaiteki. I'm Renae."

It may seem strange that I spend my next half-hour talking to the newly-dubbed Kaiteki as if he could understand me, but I don't care. I'm a strange girl. I'm fascinated by little things, just everyday things that most people over look. I have a paperclip necklace. I wear clothespins in my hair like barrettes. That's not the only weird thing about me, though.

I was born a month before I was supposed to be, so I was tiny. Bony and small, I was always the odd one out. I have one friend, and even she won't back me up when I need it. That's why Issa is so protective of me. I was bullied, and Issa scared them away, and anyone else who tries to hurt me.

But now, Issa is somewhere in the world, probably as scared and confused as I was right now.

I miss her. More than words, I miss her.

"Tek, I want to go home. I want everything to be back to normal," I say forlornly, like I was a a small child.

"Things can never be right again," I sigh, burying my face in my secured hands. Kaiteki licks the tears falling from my face, whimpering slightly.

I lay back down, letting my hair fall on my face. It becomes a bit wet as the strands mingle with the streaks of salty water down my face.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is Kaiteki settling down on my hair.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Dimah's POV

I wake up to screaming. Not my own, but my sister's.

Immediately I am up, running through the halls to the sound of my sister's wailing.

I barrel through the door to Alina's room. Inside is my father, holding a bloody knife. Alina was standing with her arms outstretched in front of Vera. It takes me a second to realize what is happening, when I see the hole in Alina's side.

"ALINA!" I howl. My father seems to notice what he had just done; he ran out of the room.

I catch her before she can fall. Setting her gently on the ground, I demand Vera, "What happened?"

"I-I d-don't kn-know! F-Father c-came in with a knife, s-saying he was g-going to kill me...A-Alina p-pushed me out of the w-way..." She choked out, tears streaming down her face.

"Alina, hold on! Please! We're gonna get you help, okay?" I pick her up and tell Vera to follow me, which she does.

I race out the door, a bleeding and dazed Alina on my back, her navy blue dress flying in the new snow. I had to get her to the hospital...

Suddenly, there is a person in front of me. He's tall, and wearing a familiar ugly coat.

He looks exactly like me.

"What is the problem, children?" He asks, smiling creepily.

"My sister. S-she's been stabbed."

He frowned. "That is not good. We had better get her to my house. It's just over this hill. Here, I will hold her," He takes Alina off my back before I can protest, so Vera and I have no choice but to follow him.

When we are let into the big house over the hill, the man wastes no time getting Alina medical help. He talks to a brunette man in a green suit, who is shaking for some reason. He nods. "Yes, sir."

I try to follow the man into the room that looks like a hospital, but the second man holds me back. "No. You must stay out here. I'm very sorry."

"Alina..." I say in disbelief. I can't believe he went that far...

After one very tense hour, the man comes back out of the room, blood on his gloves. He looks tired but happy. "She will be okay," He announces. Vera tackle hugs him, sobbing, "Thank you! Thank you!"

He pats her head. "You are welcome."

"So," He starts. "Who are you?"

"My name is Dimah," I say. "And this is my older sister, Vera. That is our younger half-sister, Alina."

"Who stabbed her?"

I hesitate, my hand covering the bandage on my arm. "My father."

He turns around, and I hear a very peculiar noise emanate from him. "Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol..."

The brunette man backs away slowly, a look of terror on his face. A sandy haired boy and a blonde wearing glasses peek out of a doorway, shaking, when they see the man making the weird noise.

It made no sense to me or Vera, but the sound was gone as quickly as it had come. Turning back around, the man is innocently smiling again. "I am so sorry, children! You must be wondering who I am! My name is Ivan Braginski."

I look him in the eyes. Violet, like mine. "Why do we look alike?" I ask, curious.

A look of comprehension crosses his face. "Have you been kidnapped recently?"

To most, this would be a very odd question.

I'm not like most.

"Yes. How did you-MMPH!" My question was muffled from Ivan's abrupt bone-crushing hug. He was squealing in a voice that shouldn't be coming from a grown man, "I knew it!"

"What? What did you know?" Vera exclaimed, trying to pul me from his embrace.

"I will explain later, children! But now, I must make a phone call. Excuse me~~"

He set me on the ground. I rubbed my now bruised ribs and watched Ivan run off.

"That was weird..." I mumble to Vera. She nods.

I hear a slight moan come from the room with Alina. Vera and I both push in there, wanting to be by her side.

Her eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling, then Vera, and then me. "Wh-what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

She closes her eyes, groaning. "I...I took a knife for Vera...Right?"

Vera smiled. "You saved my life, Alina. The knife would've hit me in the heart."

"Nngh...Please don't get all sentimental on me. I did what I had to do," She says, opening her eyes again. "Why did Father do this?"

I take a deep breath, about to reveal what I had been forbidden to reveal for years. "Father has been hurting me for years. I don't know why, but I only hope he is arrested at a bar, or something."

Vera and Alina's eyes stare at me. Then, Vera bursts into tears and hugs me. "Oh, Dimah! Why didn't you tell someone?"

"I couldn't. He was watching my every move since the first time," I say, unwrapping the bandage to show them the cuts.

"You've been through so much..."

"I know. You guys have been to, even if you didn't know it."

"So...Where are we?..."Alina asks, looking around and pushing herself into a sitting position.

"Some weird guy's house. He stitched you up, asked if I had been kidnapped lately, and freaked out with joy when I said I had. Then he ran off to make a phone call. Oh, his name is Ivan Braginski," I say, making her lay back down. "You need to rest, Alina."

"It's just a flesh wound!"

"Alina, you were just stabbed, and you think you're fine? You need to rest," I say again, more firmly this time.

There was a knock on the door before Alina could protest. Ivan stood there, still grinning like a madman. "Hello, sir. Have you made your phone call?" Vera asks politely.

"Yes, child, I have. Are you feeling better?" He asks Alina, who nods, then looks back and forth from me to him, confused.

"I have talked to my friends, and they need you to come to the meeting place so we can investigate your kidnapping," He says. "You all may come, if you wish."

"I already know who kidnapped me. It was some man named Ludwig."

"Yes, but we need to know his original plan. The meeting place is in Austria, in case you were wondering."

I look at my sisters. Alina shrugs. "Okay," I say.

Ivan claps his hands. "Okay! Come here. We shall leave now."

"N-now?"

"Yes. Don't worry, it won't take very long." Before we could protest, Alina was on his back again, wincing a little and holding her side. "Hold on to my arms, now."

I take his elbow while Vera does the same. We take a few steps forward, and the room disappears. I hear Vera scream and Alina gasp. The floor beneath me vanishes, leaving the only solid thing Ivan. Holding his jacket, I grit my teeth, waiting for this unpleasant feeling to go away.

When I can see again, we are in a big room with a piano. There is a man with black hair and a woman with long brown hair. Ivan greets them with a warm smile. They respond in unison, fear written in their eyes.

In the background, I hear arguing in English. I release Ivan and turn to make sure Vera and Alina are okay. Vera is shaking uncontrollably, but Alina frowns as if this just surprised her.

Ivan and the people talk for a little in Japanese. I start to wander a little, tuning in on the angry voices. I notice that there seem to be two males and one female that are speaking English, but if I listened closely, there was a faint female voice trying to calm everyone down in Japanese.

The voices stop abruptly. "_What was that?" _One of the male voices asked. "_You should go check it out, if you're Issa's hero," _This one sounded vaguely familiar. There was a sound of someone hitting two people, and both the voices crying out in pain. A female voice, the one in Japanese, seems to be scolding the other two.

A door cracked open, revealing a head of short blondish-brown hair.

It was the girl.

The soldier girl, the one who ran after the car.

She emerges from the room, looking at me. I wave, and she waves back, a smile growing on her face. She reaches back into the room and pulls out a boy with blonde hair and green eyes.

I smile. "Hello, Josh."

**PHEW! Finally done! I really hate not having my own computer. You guys wern't expecting that, were you? **

**I love being evil!**

**So, Maple kisses for this chapter! GOTTA LOVE THOSE CANADIANS! XD**

**DO THE POLL. DOOO IIIIIIT. NOOOOWWWWW. Or after you review. Your choice.**

**If you want a hug AND a kiss, just try to make me happy cry. **

**I just kinda made that up now. ^_^;**


	15. And then that moment ended

**Yay! AWESOME CANADA KISSES COME ON MATTIE! **

**Canada: Meeeeep! *Is tackled by eyeryone including Memoranda***

***maple kisses for .sisters, Athesia, Art and Soul, Aneki4Evah, kikipalmer21, Scarlet daydreamer, Procella, Anonymous4461213, TheRoxelShow, and CelticGirl7* *and Memoranda.* **

***Awesome prussia kisses for Shadow-Gaze14 and Scarlet daydreamer***

**VV. READ THIS. VV**

**Yeah, so you may or may not know that I have gotten my first bad review. I was surprised, not because of the review(I knew it would happen sometime!), but because of my reaction. I didn't really take it personally, when I thought I would. I just shrugged it off. I mean, I KNOW the first couple chapters are crap. **

**I would just like everyone to know that I don't mind flames. Go right ahead, if you feel like you need to. But, flaming won't get you anywhere. All you would be doing would be hurting people. You could've just made some person one step closer to suicide, or hurting themselves. I've talked to the person who flamed me, and they said they didn't know the impact of what their words could have.**

**Words have power, people. Use them wisely.**

**^^. THANKS. ^^**

**K, I'll shut up now. **

**THIS CHAPTER HAS DRAMA! QUICK SOMEONE GET SOME POPCORN! XD**

Issa's POV

"_Nothing."_

I looked at Josie. She wasn't being truthful.

"_Yeah. Sure," _Josh rolls his eyes.

What were they hiding?

"_It's really nothing important," _Zack said, looking at me, silently begging me to believe him, even though he probably didn't know I could understand English.

"Can you guys just be nice to each other?" I grumble, kneeling down next to the oblivious America and Canada. "How's he doing?" I ask Canada. He sighs and shakes his head. "No change."

I feel Josh wrap his arm protectively around me, but I shrug it off. I was annoyed with him.

"_Ha! See? Issa doesn't want you to touch her," _I hear Zack say triumphantly. I take a pencil from the desk right next to me and chuck it at him, saying, "I'm annoyed with you, too!"

Zack dodges it, but he has a hurt look in his eyes. "_What's gotten into you?"_

"I'm mad at you. Go away."

"_She isn't too happy with you, either," _Josh points out.

"I'm not happy with both of you! Just make up and stop fighting over me and maybe I'll stop being mad!"

I don't know why I'm so angry. All I know is that I'll ignore them until I cool off. Renae could always coax me out of these rages that I go in for some reason.

I miss Renae. I think she was at a sleepover when I went back home for a night, or something...

I wonder how she's doing...

XXXXXXX

Josie's POV

**(started procrastinating right around here...DANG IT, MEM, GET SOME WORK DONE! . )**

"She isn't too happy with you, either," The boy named Josh said rudely to my brother. Issa said something angrily to them, still next to Arthur.

I agreed with Issa. I couldn't understand her, but I knew she was frustrated with them. Even if Josh started it.

_See? The guy's a jerk! And Issa LIKES him?_

"Shut up, Zack," I mumble to him.

_He totally started it! I mean, REALLY! I was just trying to be polite! _

"You're making it look like I'm talking to myself."

"Who ARE you talking to?" Josh exclaims.

"Okay, I'll tell you. It's my invisible friend, Nunya."

"Nunya?" Even he wasn't expecting that.

I nod. "Yeah. Nunya Bizness."

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny," Josh says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, it was, if I do say so myself. Now, why are you picking fights with my brother?" I accuse him.

"...Didn't mean to..." Wow. I mean, I've been told I'm intimidating, but...wow.

**(oops, there I go again. FOCUUUS!)**

I look at Zack. He shrugs.

A noise from behind startles me. It sounded as if a person was mumbling in their sleep, kind of urgently.

I look back. Arthur is thrashing, tears pouring down his face, yet he was still asleep. Issa, Alfred, and Matthew were desperately trying to stop him. They were pushing down on his shoulders to stop his shaking, calling his name, begging him to wake up, to be fine, anything. Or, that's what it sounded like.

He wouldn't though. He wouldn't wake up. He looked so scared...

I rush to his side. "Here, let me try."

I always did this to Zack when he wouldn't wake up. I put my sleeve over my hand and place it over his mouth while pinching his nose shut simultaneously. He twitched for a few seconds before waking up with an indignant squeak. He began to rant. "I say, that was completely unnecessary, and undignified, might I add!"

We all stare at him. Wasn't he supposed to be...insane?

Alfred tackles him, followed with Issa. But...

"GAH! DON'T EAT ME!"

They release him. Arthur is shaking again, staring at us with horror. Yep. He's crazy again.

"Great. Just great," I say, turning around. Issa is talking to Arthur in calming tones.

Meanwhile, Zack and Josh are STILL arguing.

"I've been here for Issa! And where have you been? Locked away, like some pathetic bird! Do you have any idea what I've seen her go through?" Zack shouted.

"You think I WANTED to be locked away, you git? It wasn't my choice! I wouldn't have DARED leave her side if I didn't absolutely have to!" Josh yelled back. There was a faint British accent creeping into his angry voice.

"So what? Would you have even talked to her if you weren't kidnapped?"

"You wouldn't even KNOW her if you weren't targeted!"

"That may be true," Zack said quietly, his soft voice more menacing than I've ever heard it. "But how much do you know about her? What's her favorite color? What's her favorite song?"

Josh is silent, so Zack continues. "What's her favorite food? How many siblings does she have? What makes her sad, and how can you cheer her up?"

Still, Josh says nothing. "Her favorite color is red. It was the color of her dress the first time I met her, and she always seems attracted to that color. Her favorite song is 'Check yes, Juliet' by We the Kings. I've heard her hum it, more than once. She loves strawberries. She has one sister, Renae. She gets sad over everything, it seems, but a hug and a reassurance always makes her happy. She has the brightest smile that I've ever seen..." He trails off, then snaps back to reality. "Should I continue?"

Before Josh can answer, a shoe flies over my head to land roughly on Zack. A second one hits Josh. I turn around and see Issa standing in her socks, her fists clenched.

**(I'll be switching back and forth with the POVs. Bear with me, please!)**

Issa's POV

I turn around, listening to Zack rant about me. H-how did he know all that about me? I never told him anything...

I take off my shoes and throw them, one by one, my aim true.

Rolling my hands into fists, I start talking. "I don't need you to tell me who I should love. I can figure that out for myself."

In all truth, what Zack said had touched me. I had never told him that, yet he took the time to notice the little quirks about me, like the way I would always wear red if I could, or hum under my breath.

Unfortunately, they don't stop arguing.

Zack's POV

At my words, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off of my chest. I never would have said that if Issa didn't speak English.

Suddenly, I notice a familiar high voice talking to Roderich and Eliziveta, or whatever their names were. There were slight footsteps coming towards us. "What was that?"

Josh glares at me. "You should go check it out, if you're Issa's hero."

Issa slaps both of us on the head and looks out herself. After a minute, she comes back in, smiling. Just another sign of her having mood swings. She pulls Josh out of the room. I got curious, so I went out there, too.

It was a boy who looked like that one dude, Ivan, Russia, whatever. I guess he was one of the kids who were kidnapped for looking like the other dudes.

While Josh and the boy tried to talk(he could only speak Russian, I think), I noticed some other people. There was a girl with short grayish-blonde hair who looked around sixteen or seventeen gazing fearfully at us. The Ivan dude had a young girl on his back. She looked about ten, and she had bandages around her waist. Both of them looked confused. I send a message to Josie.

Hey. There are Russian people here.

She comes out of the room and drags me back in.

"There's nothing wrong with Russians, Zack. Not communists anymore, remember? You gotta stop this 'Russians are evil' thing."

It was a statement! Geez!

"Yeah. Right," Josie says, rolling her eyes.

It was!

"Shut up, Zack! I can hear your tone on voice, you know."

I know.

"Don't mock me!"

I'm not!

"You do know that I can still hear you, right?" Josie asks, tapping her head.

Yeah, duh.

She punched me. "Idiot."

There was a cough behind us. I turned to see Issa looking at us with confused eyes.

"Oh. Hey, Issa."

She gave us a questioning look.

Issa's POV

Were they talking inside each other's head? That was weird.

"Hi, guys," I said stiffly. I wasn't ready to forgive Zack for making such a huge fit yet.

Josie turned to Zack. "_Go for it_," She whispered.

He smiled and took my hand. "_C'mere. I wanna talk to you."_

I sigh and allow him to lead me through the house until finding an empty room. I don't think he even knew where he was going.

He opened a door and went inside. We were outside in a courtyard, which was covered in the falling snow.

"You're crazy. It's freezing out here," I say moodily.

Zack's POV

Issa said something in Japanese testily. I think she might be cold.

"I know, I know. It's cold out here, but please, stay," I beg her, wrapping my coat around her shoulders. She accepts it, but eyes me suspiciously.

"I know you can't understand me. But I just need to get this off my chest, okay?" I take a deep breath. "I love you, Issa. I know you like Josh, but I...I just think you're the most beautiful girl in the world. And, wow, I could never say that if you could understand me. Because I'm a wimp, okay? And that's just one reason why I think you should choose him. I'm not the one who took two bullets to get back to you. I'm not the one who was dragged into this mess with you."

Panicking slightly, I send a mental message to Josie.

Failing here. Failing hard.

Issa has tears in her eyes. She says something to me in Japanese. She hugs me, much to my surprise. Something dawns on me.

"Issa...Y-you CAN understand me..."

I guess my expression is pretty funny, because she laughs, a light, melodious sound, and nods.

I just about faint.

"Aw, crap," Was all I could manage to say.

She smiles, tears of happiness forming in the corner of her blue eyes. Issa reaches up and brushes snowy hair away from my face. She whispers something, her eyes staring into mine.

"You know I can't understand you..." She shrugs noncommittally.

"You know you don't have to choose me, right?" A nod.

Happiness explodes inside of me, even more so when she kisses me.

Issa's POV

I listen to Zack rant, thinking I didn't understand him.

"_I'm not the one who was dragged into this mess with you."_

"That may be true," I say, feeling snow brush against my hair, my eyelashes, my socked feet. "But you were there for me. While I was there, making ridiculous plans to try to make things right. You put up with my emotional ranting, my constant bad moods. You took the time to notice everything about me."

"_Issa...Y-you CAN understand me..." _He says, dumbfounded.

I nod, giggling a bit.

He walks a few steps backwards, blinking snowflakes out of his eyes. "_Aw, crap."_

"You're cute when you're startled," I say.

"_You know I don't understand you." _I shrug, not really caring.

"_You know, you don't have to choose me, right?" _

I nod. I know that. I know Josh will be heartbroken, but lets face it. He really hasn't known me for very long. He never bothered to talk to me before we were captured.

I step towards him. Both of us are soaked, but happy. The smell of coffee is more pronounced the closer I got to him.

This time, I was the one who leaned in. Our lips met, but I was still afraid, so I pulled back quicker.

He was stunned for a few seconds. Then the corner of his lips tugged into a small smile. I half-smiled back.

We share an awkward, yet blissfully peaceful moment together, holding hands, watching the snow pile on the ground. My toes are freezing under the snow, but I don't care. I feel happy enough to burst. Zack's cheeks are a deep red, but whether from the kiss or the cold, I can't tell.

And then that moment ended.

A helicopter hovered over us. Zack pushed me out of the way of falling ladders.

What was happening?

Zack shoved me behind a now-white bush, hiding me from view. "_Stay here! I'll handle this!"_

With a start, I realize he is going to try to take on the soldiers pouring from the helicopter by himself. "N-no! I won't let you do this!" I exclaim in a whisper, grabbing his shirt. "Idiot! Why do you have to be all protective NOW when I realize how much I love you?"

He kisses me once very briefly. "_I don't know what you just said, but it's all right. Let me prove myself to you. Stay here, and whatever happens, don't come out until no one's here, or I come and get you." _And with that, Zack runs out at the soldiers.

I cover my eyes and curl up, hearing the sound of flesh hitting flesh, someone groan in pain, and several voices conversing in German. All I want to do is help him, but I do as I'm told, for once.

I peer over the bush, being careful not to be seen.

Zack is limp, a bruise on his head and steam rolling from a cut on his shoulder. The soldiers surround him, probably discussing what they were going to do. Zack's finger writes something in the snow when the soldiers lift him into the helicopter and fly away. I creep out from behind the bush, shaking from terror and the cold. I look at what Zack had written to me in his last moments of freedom.

'_Run, Baby, run, don't ever look back, They'll tear us apart if you give them the chance, don't sell your heart, don't say we're not meant to be, run, Baby, run, forever we'll be you and me.'_

Tears roll down my face, quickly turning from warm to cold. He might've just killed himself to protect me, and he took the time to write part of my favorite song.

I tell myself to stop crying, and my body obliges.

I was starting to think Germany had just crossed the line. I was going to kill him, whether he was a nation or not.

I stumble back inside when I notice that I'm still wearing Zack's sweatshirt.

I was about to go back in the hospital room when Italy, Russia, Austria, Hungary, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein came running up. They all looked rather shaken, minus Russia.

"What happened?" I ask.

None of them speak, but Liechtenstein hands me a laptop and presses play on the video.

XXXXXX

_Video_

_A few seconds of static cross the screen before focusing on a dimly lit room. There is a small, limp person tied up to a chair, a sack covering their head. Multiple bruises and cuts litter the visible parts of their body. A gloved hand messes with the focus buttons and then step into view. _

_Germany clears his voice and begins to speak. "Hello, Issa. Come to my house before forty-eight hours are up, or-" He lifts the sack off of the person's head. Brownish-reddish curls fall out of the bag before settling around a familiar young face. "-Well, if you don't, I'm afraid poor Renae here doesn't have much time left." Germany lifted Renae's face, forcing her to look into the camera. She tries to shake her head away from Germany's grasp, but he slaps her on the face. "And if that isn't enough persuasion, your little boyfriend will be joining the party soon. You come- WITH the country whose blood triggers the bomb- and maybe Renae and Zack will live. Remember- forty-eight hours."_

_The screen blurs and the video ends. _

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I sit in shocked silence. I can't believe it. Germany actually had the nerve to go and kidnap my SISTER?

Why would he want to hurt Renae? She is always so sweet and innocent, she wouldn't even hurt a fly! She always cared about everyone. Anyone who would hurt her would have to be crazy, or a huge crap-face.

Germany was probably both.

"Now, Issa," Russia said, grasping my shoulder. "Don't get any ideas, _da? _We will take care of this."

"No!" I shout angrily. "I've done nothing but wait for everyone else to do things for me, and I'm sick of it! Doing nothing made Zack..."I trail off, my voice breaking. "No. I can't let anyone else get hurt for me."

"And what good would that do?" Switzerland asked. "If you try to do this by yourself, more than just those people would get hurt! Entire NATIONS would get killed, and when a nation dies their people die too!"

He had a point, but I still just wanted to vent at someone. Before I could, though, I was crushed in a Russia-hug.

I struggle against him, trying to push, bite, or tickle him off of me, but it's no use. Through the blaze of all the emotions I was feeling, I focused on one thought.

Germany was going to pay.

**GRRRBLARGABLARGABLARG**

**WHEN DID THIS GET SO DRAMATIC AND HARD TO WRITE?**

**Yeah, I kinda failed epically this chapter. **

**Sorry for all you Issa/Josh supporters, BUT NEVER FEAR! *clamps hands over mouth* must not spoil...**

**okay, who wants to kiss Russia this chapter, da? I mean, we'll all become one with him at some point or another. Might as well kiss him now!**

****


	16. Just to get to Issa

****

**157 REVIEEEEEEWWWSSSS! I FREAKIN LOVE ALL OF YOUUUUUU! XD XD XD XD XD !**

**Ivan-kisses for Athesia, teenbooks4eva, nekoNamine, Kitty Sue96, kikipalmer21, TheRoxelShow, Shadow-Gaze14, MewMewruby, CelticGirl7, and Scarlet daydreamer. And at least TRY not to force them to become with you(although SOME people wouldn't mind! XD *coughcoughScarletdaydreamer,nekoNamine,memorandacoughcough). **

**Yeah, I just want to thank you all for all the support you've given me throughout this story! Wanna know how I thought this up? So, I'm just really REALLY paranoid(and slightly insane), and I keep thinking that this will happen to me. It was driving me crazy for WEEKS before I decided to turn it into a fanfic! I know, I should be in a mental asylum, but at least it entertains me and you guys, too! **

**What is this...? Chapter thirty already?...Wow...**

Zack's POV

My eyes flutter open with difficulty. It looks like...

...I don't know what it looks like. It's dark.

There were chains on my ankles. I could feel that through the darkness.

It was cold, slightly wet, and I could hear heavy breathing next to me.

Wait. 'Heavy breathing next to me?'

I nearly die of fear when someone small cuddles me. "AH!"

The person jumps back. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." The voice was high and quiet. It was a girl speaking, a young one. She sounded kind of wheezy, like an asthmatic.

"Wh-who are you?" I stutter.

"My name is Renae. Who are you?"

"I'm Zack,"

"Hello, Zack," Renae says. "Have you seen a puppy anywhere?"

"Nope," I tell her. "Been unconscious this whole time. Plus the fact that I can't see anything."

"Yeah. It's pretty dark in here."

"Hey, Renae."

"Yes?"

"Do you happen to be related to a girl named Issa?"

I can hear her voice perk up immediately. "You know my sister?"

I smile. "Yeah."

"Is she okay?" She asks urgently.

"She was fine, last I checked. I'm not so sure for how much longer, though. She watched me get captured, and she has a tendency to take matters into her own hands. Her plans...they don't always work."

Renae hesitates. "Do you like her?"

I half-laugh, half-snort. Is it really that obvious? "Are you gonna kill me if I say yes?"

She laughs. "No. It's good that she'll be happy. I mean, well..." She trails off awkwardly.

"...If we ever get out of this mess?"

"Yeah."

We're pretty quiet after that, until Renae voices her worries. "Zack?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared." Her voice quivers a little.

"...Would a hug help?" I ask, holding my arms out in the direction of her voice. If Renae was anything like her sister, this would work.

And it does. Her small frame shuffles into my arms, and I wrap them around her. After a few seconds, Renae bursts into tears, burying her face in my shoulder. I wince a little; she had hit my cut. Stroking her long hair, I speak to her in calming tones. "Shh...It's okay...We've got most of the world on our side...We'll be okay...It's alright..."

"No, we won't!" She sobs. "I can see it in his eyes! He's going to kill us! Just to get to Issa!"

I am startled at the young girl's hopelessness, but determined not to let her see it. "Aw, come on, Renae! You gotta believe me! We've got America, Russia, China, England, and all those guys with us!"

She has doubt in her trembling voice. "Oh, yeah? How can we have COUNTRIES on our side? And if we had them, how were we kidnapped in the first place?"

I hesitate. "Well, they didn't know we were being targeted in the first place. But, I'm sure they have some kind of plan to get us out soon. Don't worry."

She chokes out a small, dark laugh. "It's too late for that."

"Renae. I promise you that you'll be fine, okay? Pinky swear," I say, holding my little finger out to the darkness. A small hand fumbles around before taking my finger with theirs.

Renae and I spend the next half-hour or so just talking. She tells me about the good times she has had with Issa, and I tell her all the (nonetheless) good times with Josie.

Just then, I face-palm. "Zack, you idiot!" I cry aloud.

"What?"

"I just remembered something. I'll tell you if you promise to believe me."

"I promise."

"I can talk to my twin through my head. Well, kinda. She can only hear me. I can't hear her."

Renae says nothing for a few seconds. "...Okay? Well, I've heard of more preposterous things this trip."

"Why do you have a bigger vocabulary than me?"

She laughs. "I don't know."

"Okay, do you know where we are? So I can tell Josie."

She thinks about it. "I don't know for sure, but I've only heard people speak Japanese and German. But mostly German. So, we're either in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, or Liechtenstein, because those are the countries where German is a dominant language."

"'Kay. Thanks."

Josie, can you hear me? I'm okay. Tell Issa that, and that Renae's safe. Well, for the time being. We're in some German-speaking country. I'm pretty sure it's Germany. Miss you. I'll keep you updated.

A whining sound makes both of us jump. Breathless, Renae whispers, "Kaiteki?"

A dog yips in a high pitch. Renae sighs with relief. "It's just my puppy."

"You brought your dog with you?"

"No," Renae says. "He was laying on me for some strange reason when I woke up in a room upstairs."

I hear the soft click-clack of claws on concrete coming towards us. A second later, a wet nose presses into my hand. I pick up the little dog, finding him to be lighter than expected. "Hey, Renae. I found your puppy."

She giggles softly. "Yes."

With 'Kaiteki' snuggled in the ten-year-old's arms, she begins to fall asleep on my lap. Just before, she whispers to me, "Good night, Zack..."

I move her to a more comfortable position and pet her hair. "Good night, Renae. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

Just before I drift off myself, I send a message to Josie.

I'm going to sleep now. Renae's already asleep. Good night, Josie.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**TTIIIIIMMMMMEEEE WWWAAAARRRRP! Just before they kicked Dimah out of the van in Russia. Just FYI, I fail at writing with Harvey. **

Harvey's POV

I sit next to Dimah, shaking with rage and fear. Those jerks had just left Josh while he was in his time of need! He needed to recover from his head wound, and I could make him some French remedies!

Just then, the car jerks to a stop, throwing me and Dimah against the seats in front of us. A soldier pulls the Russian boy out of the car and slams the door shut. The car speeds away, leaving Dimah to chase weakly after us. After a second, a flash of light envelopes us. When it dies down, I recognize the very French surroundings.

...Wha-?...

Again, I am slammed against the seat. The door is jerked open, and I am pushed out. With a loud bang, the door is closed, and the van is gone, lost in the traffic. A flash of light again catches my attention, but it does not happen again.

I stand there, on the street corner in the ridiculous cape and tights, dumbfounded. Passerby's walk around me, wrinkling their noses at the garish colors of my attire.

What just happened?

I run my fingers through my shoulder-length hair agitatedly. What was going to happen now? I couldn't just walk back to the orphanage; they'd turn me down, or worse, take me in.

I hate that place. It's always full of screaming babies and toddlers. And not just that. It was my nightmare, several times over. I had been turned down by so many couples...

I hunch over a little bit, my hands over my eyes.

Someone behind me was talking into a cell phone. I could catch snippets of his conversation.

"I knew something was wrong with him for years!" Pause. "Why, that-" Pause. "Oh, so you're trying to find them?" Short pause. "You should call China." Long pause. "I don't know." Pause. "Mathieu, why do you expect me to know?" Pause. "That is true." A laugh from the other side. "We should just work on saving England first." Long pause. "If I see him, I'll let you know, alright, Mathieu?" Pause. "Okay, good-" The man stops. "Mathieu?" Pause. The man is standing right behind me. "I think I found him."

Wait, does he mean me?

A hand on my shoulder sends me running, without even looking back.

"Wait!" The man calls. He says hurriedly into his cell phone, "I'll call you back!"

I push through the crowd of people at top speed. I didn't want to go back to Germany, or Spain, or wherever I was. But I also didn't want to stay here.

I turn into an alleyway, not caring where it went.

Oh, crap.

Now I cared.

It was a dead end.

I whip around to see if the man had followed me in here. I see his silhouette approaching me.

Oh, crap! I was going to be beaten, then raped, then stuffed into a blender!

"St-stay away!" I squeak.

"Calm down! I'm not going to hurt you!" The man says, laughing slightly at my panic.

I continue retreating into a corner, and he continues advancing until I can see him properly.

Then I faint.

Before losing consciousness, I am able to make out one sane thought.

He looks just like me.

**Aaaaand cut! I fail when writing Harvey's POV. I just don't know how French people act! And France isn't exactly the best to copy. :p**

**So, how 'bout them Patriots? hehehe, I really don't care who wins, but I feel more attracted to the Patriots because I lived in New England. **

**hahahah, Guess what?**

**England doesn't like Patriots! **

**Get it? Patriots? Revolutionary war? No?**

'**Kay, shutting up now. **

**Hmmmmmm...I'm running out of characters for you guys to kiss...Hmmmmmm**

***light bulb* I GOTS IT!**

**SWITZERLAND! **

**SWISS KISS! IT RHYMES! XD XD XD XD!**

**HAHAHAHAHAH! (I swear, I'm the weirdest person I know! I spaz out at COMPLETELY random times!) **

**I'm listening to Kaito's Version of Rolling girl! I FREAKING LOVE KAITO!**

**You know, the only rap I like is Kaito's Rolling Girl. **

**What if Kaito and Russia become one? THEN THE WORLD IS DOOMED. **

**DOOMED, I TELL YOU!**

**They're already alike. You know, Scarf, happiness, weird colored hair, long coat, etc., etc...**

**What if Russia cosplays kaito, and Vice versa? That would be funny! XD**

'**Kay, I'll shut up now. XD**

**SWISS KISS! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!**


	17. Half of me is missing

**169 REVIEWS. HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE, I LOOOOOOVVVVVVEEEEE YOUU GGUIIESSSSS!XDXDXD**

**Swiss kisses for Athesia, Tragos, teenbooks4eva Scarlet daydreamer, nekoNamine, Art and Soul, InsanityAintOptional(/kikipalmer21) TheRoxelShow, MewMewRuby, CelticGirl7, and neva-chanluvsmonsters101.**

**Heh, yeah. I was high on nutella last chapter. XD**

Zack's POV

Once again, I am pulled into consciousness. A warm body next to me indicates that Renae is still asleep, her dog cuddled in her arms.

Rubbing my eyes and sitting up, I yawn and look around.

No windows. No light. Wait!

Never mind. There was light in the distance, but just a little sliver, and I take that as a sign that there was a door there.

Hi, Josie. Are you awake? Ha. I guess you are now. Yeah...Nothing's happened yet. Probably because I just woke up.

If I focus on Renae's breathing, it sounds sharper than usual. Weird.

Renae groaned a little, holding her throat with one hand while she flipped around to lie on her stomach with the other one.

"Hey, there. You awake?" I ask, leaning down to where her ear was. She let out a croaky squeak, and after a few tries, she managed to form the word, "Unfortunately." Her voice was scratchy, and it sounded like it hurt her to talk.

"C'mere. Sit up," I instruct her. When she slowly does, I ask her, "What hurts?"

She doesn't talk, but motions to her throat, head, and chest. "'Kay," I tell her. "You're sick. Just take it easy, alright? Go back to sleep."

She nods, agreeing with my decision. After a few minutes, she is dozing with her hair covering her face. I reach over and push the locks out of the way, and then feel her forehead. She feels feverish.

This wasn't good; we didn't have any medicine, and Ludwig, or Germany, or whoever he was already wanted us dead.

Josie. Renae's sick. I don't know with what, but she said that her throat, head and chest hurt.

Stroking her long hair, I murmur mostly to myself, "Hold on, Renae. Just a little while longer..."

XXXXXXXXXX

**Murp. *rubs temples* I had NO motivation for that part. Hope this part is better!**

Josie's POV

Panic filling me, I nearly bowl Issa over in my desperation to confirm my fears.

I had-...I don't know. It was just like...like I could _feel_ Zack's pain. A few minutes ago, I swore that I felt a fist smash into my head, and a knife pierce my shoulder. Of course, it didn't actually happen. It just startled me. But I knew that something was wrong.

"Issa!" I cry out. Melted snowflakes tangled her short hair. Her grayish glasses were fogged from being in the cold for so long. Her clothes were soaked, and she was shivering, a murderous look on her usually happy face. "Where's Zack?" I feel dizzy, like I was short on blood, and I was panting as if I had just run a mile.

She shook her head, water falling out of her hair like raindrops. "Is he okay?" I press on. "Please tell me he's okay!"

Again, she shakes her head, looking torn on whether or not to punch down a wall or break down and cry. She settles with digging her nails into her arm until it looks like she was bleeding beneath her hand. "Don't do that," I say harshly, pulling her arm off of herself.

I tug the trembling girl into the hospital room and drag Matthew, or Canada, or whatever away from Arthur (England, whatever). "Translate, please."

I nudge Issa to get her talking, but she's clammed up tight until Matt coaxes her into explaining. After a few minutes, Matt turns to me and says, "Z-Zack's been kidnapped by G-Germany...s-so Issa would would go to get him and her sister back and G-Germany could make the b-bomb..."

No...

Clutching my hair tightly and almost ripping it out, I shake my head in disbelief. Before Matt could offer his stuttered condolences, I turn and run out of the room.

I turn the corner and promptly crash into someone. It was Josh.

"Hey. What's wrong?" He asks. I really don't want to talk to him, of all people. Shaking my head and standing up again, I start to take off, but he grabs my wrist. I had to get away. I had to get away. I had to get away!

"L-let go!" I shriek, twisting under his grasp. I wasn't going to let anyone see me cry, especially not the boy who was rude to me and my brother for no reason.

"C'mere," He simply says, pulling me into a hug. Tears were falling onto my face now, but that only made me fight harder. "I don't need your help! Get away!"

"No. Just calm down and tell me what's wrong."

I manage to slap him in the face. "You wouldn't care! Get off of me!"

He releases me, rubbing the red mark, and I dash off in the other direction. I sprint down endless hallways, turn countless corners, and finally stop at a room where I think no one will find me.

I toss myself on the couch in the middle of the room, sobbing.

I couldn't help it.

I just...I just feel...

I just feel as if a whole half of me was missing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up, which was odd.

_Josie, can you hear me? I'm okay. Tell Issa that, and that Renae's safe. Well, for the time being. We're in some German-speaking country. I'm pretty sure it's Germany. Miss you. I'll keep you updated._

Zack was talking to me in my head. You know, in times like these, I really wish I could talk to him.

But this did make me feel better. Zack was safe, and so was Issa's sister. Yeah, they were most likely in Germany.

I miss you too, Zack...

Wandering out of the room, I somehow manage to find my way back to the hospital room where I know I'll find Issa.

Wiping my eyes, almost as if to make sure they were dry, even though I knew they were, I slide through the door and sit next to Issa on the floor.

"Hi. Zack and Renae are safe for the time being," I say as casually as possible.

What I said takes a few seconds to sink in, but she gets the message. Clutching my shirt, she says something rapidly in Japanese. I laugh slightly and pry her off, saying, "I know, you're probably wondering how I know, and I think it's about time to tell you. Zack can talk to me through his head, but don't get excited," I add as she opens her mouth to interrupt in a different language. "He can only talk to me. I can't talk to him."

She smiles slightly and hugs me, talking again in that weird tongue. "She says, 'Thanks, Josie. It's good to know they're safe,'" Matt calls almost absentmindedly over his shoulder (Al was sleeping in the chair next to Artie).

Suddenly, Zack's voice fills my head as clear as if he was standing next to me.

_I'm going to sleep now. Renae's already asleep. Good night, Josie._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**WHOOOOSH! Present time! So, Harvey was unconscious for a day or two. I'm too lazy to count. **

Harvey's POV

I open my eyes, and wonder why I wasn't dead. Or chained to a post, ready to be raped and/or beaten.

I was lying on a bed, a wet washcloth on my forehead, my boots on the floor next to me.

The door opened, and out of instinct, I feign sleep immediately. The blond man, who shared a great resemblance to myself, walked in, talking on his cell phone.

Again.

"...Yes, Mathieu, he is doing fine. Still unconscious, but fine. Is England doing alright?" Pause. The man turns pale through my eyelashes. "As soon as the boy wakes up, we will come!" Pause. "Goodbye, Canada. I'll call you later," And with that, the cell phone is snapped shut in the man's hand. He walks-well, he doesn't really walk. More like struts-up to where I was faking comatose. Removing the washcloth and feeling my temperature, it takes all my willpower not to stiffen or flinch. The squeaks of a chair notify the fact that he has sat down. Impatiently, he sighs, "When are you going to wake up? I didn't scare you THAT bad, did I?"

I said nothing, but waited for him to leave.

After a few minutes, he stands back up and exits. Waiting painstakingly, I sit up as soon as the door is shut. Pushing back the covers, I pull on my boots and hurry to examine the windows.

Crap.

You couldn't open them. I guess the only way out was...

Looking back at the door, I could only feel dread at it opening, whether by my hand or someone else's.

I summon all of my courage and peek through the keyhole.

GAH! HE WAS RIGHT THERE!

No time to pretend I was asleep now, so I grabbed the poker from the empty fireplace and hefted it like a Japanese man might wield a katana. It was probably impossible to tell which face showed more terror, mine, or the man's.

After an intense staring contest, the man threw back his head and laughed. Looking back at me, he said in a soothing voice, "It's okay. I won't hurt you, I promise. Just put down the poker."

I shook my head solemnly. "Nuh-uh."

"Will you let me explain?"

"Only because you're blocking the only exit," I say in all truth.

He laughs again. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, but you can call me France, because I am."

I look at him, an expression of bewilderment etched on my face. "Wha-?"

"Have you ever heard stories of people having the power of the nations?"

I nod suspiciously.

"It's true. I'm France, and this," He hold up a picture where he, two twin boys, and a scowling golden-haired man with thick eyebrows are in front of a tree. "is America, Canada, and England," He says, pointing to each person in turn. Without lowering the poker or my guard, I peer at the picture.

Over the course of a few minutes, Francis, or France, whatever, tells me about the other countries, and how the Germany guy was really Ludwig, and Feliciano and Kiku were really Italy and Japan. He explains that they didn't know why I was kidnapped in the first place, but they do know that I wasn't in danger anymore but they still wanted me to come to the meeting place so they could try to piece together why.

"...Josh-did you know him?- is already there, and we're trying to find Dimah," He finishes. "So, would you consider putting down your weapon and allowing me to assist you?"

I hadn't really noticed that I was still armed until he pointed it out. Hastily placing the poker back in its place, he smiled.

I permit him to lead me out of the room. He suddenly puts his arm out, as if to stop me, but there's nothing in front of us.

I look at his arm still suspended in front of me until he says, "Take my arm, please."

I found this to be a very odd request, but I did it, nonetheless. A flash of light enveloped us and the ground left my feet. Startled at the sudden flip of gravity, I cling tighter to Francis's arm until the world spun back into focus.

I am in a room with a piano in it. A black haired, rather fussy-looking man and a cheerful-looking lady with brown hair are standing next to a man who, at first, I mistake for my comrade, Dimah. Then, I notice how he is slightly taller, and is smiling, unlike Dimah's usual somber expression. Beside him are two distraught-seeming girls and a confused boy with golden blond hair. I smile. "Hello, Josh." He waves half-heartedly, gazing forlornly at the first girl, the one with the shorter hair. Next to them are the real Dimah and two girls, one older and one younger than him. The younger one has slightly bloody bandages around her waist. They both looked similar to Dimah.

"Hello, Dimah," I say. He smiles and waves contentedly. I notice that he is clinging to a bandage on his arm that he didn't have when I last saw him. Concerned, I walk forward and reach for it. He draws back slightly, but I am already unwrapping it. There are quite a few deep cuts etched in his skin. He, I guess, explains in Russian. The man who looks like him translates it into Japanese, and Francis tells me in French. "Don't worry. Those are not self-inflicted wounds."

Francis starts a conversation with the two people, and I notice the slightly hostile expression on the woman's face, and how she grips an iron frying pan.

Looking back at Josh, I notice how...lovestruck he seems for this girl. Smirking, I walk towards him and throw my arm around him good-naturedly. "My friend, I will help you obtain this girl." I don't really care that he doesn't understand me.

Finally, something I was good at!

**UUUUURRRRRGGGGHHHHHH. I really, really, REALLY hate not having my own computer!**

**Okay, how 'bout some Spain kisses? **


	18. Just end it

**Holy Crap. 177 REVIEWS! XD I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUIES! XD**

**Spaaaaain Kissssessss fooorrrrr: teenbooks4eva, TheRoxelShow, MewMewRuby, Athesia, Scarlet daydreamer, xXMeitanteiKuroChiXx, and Art and Soul**

**AND a swiss kiss for Shadow-Gaze14 for reviewing that chapter. **

**You know, you guys don't have to miss the kisses! Just go back and review that chapter, and I'll let them kiss you! XD**

**And, Art and Soul is my new buddy, so she's gonna make an appearance this chapter! **

**Heh, I went back and named all of the chapters. I plan on re-doing the first couple chapters, 'cause they're pretty stupid. **

Harvey's POV

Finally, something I was good at!

Patting Josh on the shoulder, I go and inspect the girl he was looking at. She gives me an affronted look, like trying to guess her personality was odd.

It wasn't in France.

She had hair shorter than mine, a dirty blonde color with brown highlights, and it was tangled and drying, like she was outside, where it was heavily snowing. She was about 170 cm tall. She was wearing a black dress that was wrinkled and dirty, but she also seemed uncomfortable in it. A black zip-up hoodie clashed with the vibe that the dress had originally brought. She was standing in her socks, which, I noticed, were two different colors. A splash of freckles lined her face, giving her a slightly innocent look. She had a clean cut across her left cheek, about three cm long. Her lips were set in a straight line, like she didn't want anybody to know how she felt, but her eyes held so many unspoken emotions.

Smiling at her, I walk back to Josh, who was now looking at me like I was crazy. Francis, the woman, the black haired man, and the man who looked like Dimah were now engaged in conversation. Turning to face Josh, I say with a smile, "Yep. She looks like a keeper!"

He sends me a strange look, his (rather large) eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "Come here," I tell him. "I'm going to help your situation."

I take his wrist and attempt to grab the girl's hand, but she smacks me on the head, glaring at me. "Ow!" I yelp.

Oh, well. It looks like I would get them together the hard way.

I wrap on arm around her shoulders, the other one preventing her from hitting me again. She hisses something in Japanese and struggles against my grasp, but I didn't let go.

With a bemused Josh following me, I start to search for an empty room.

I turn a doorknob and am pleased to find it vacant. Pulling the fighting girl into it, I gesture for Josh to follow.

I suddenly feel pain on my arm. Flinching and releasing the girl, I notice that she had bitten me. She backs into the corner of the room, snarling in Japanese, her voice dripping with venom. Josh runs up to her and tries to hug her, but she pushes him back into the back of the couch. Josh stands up straight, hurt in his eyes. He rubs his shoulder, where I see bloodstains on his clothes.

Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair. This was going to be harder than I thought.

I jump pretty high when I feel someone tap my shoulder. Whirling around, I am facing Dimah and his sisters. Dimah says something in Russian, and by the tone of his voice, I think he is offering help.

"Uh, by all means. They need some assistance," I say, waving my arm towards them. A half-smile makes its way onto his face for a few seconds, but it leaves as soon as he passes me.

As I watch, Dimah walks up to the girl and asks, "Issa?"

Confusion crosses her angry face as she nods. Dimah smiles again and hugs her, which to me, seems like a threat to his life.

She seems torn on whether or not to push him off or hug him back, so she just stands there. I can see her shaking from behind Dimah as she covers her face with her hands. She buries her face in his shoulder, her arms now wrapped around him. I can hear a few muffled sobs as Issa's wall of hostility crumbles.

Wow. I wasn't really expecting that.

I can hear a young girl's voice mumbling angrily in Russian behind me, and further inspection tells me that it was Dimah's little sister, the one with the hurt side.

Without warning, Issa throws Dimah off of her and sprints off. Josh scratches his head, looking after her, probably debating whether or not to go try and comfort her. I hear him ask in English, "_What did I do?"_

XXXXXX

Issa's POV

I run into the falling snow, away from the house, away from everything. I just had to get away. I don't care that I wasn't wearing shoes, or that I didn't have a coat. I just had to get away.

It was only safe to assume that I was in Vienna, capitol of Austria. I stop and catch my breath in front of a store that sold pianos. I am tempted to laugh, but it just turns into a choked sob. Whipping around, I continue my mad dash to nowhere.

Please...Just let me die...

When my lungs feel as if they're about to burst, I stop again. This time, I'm on a bridge over a precarious river. The river is rushing really fast; I don't think that anybody would live long if they fell into it.

What if I was dead? Germany wouldn't have any blood to collect. Zack and Renae might even live. I would be free.

But what would everyone do if I died? No doubt, Germany would go into a hopeless rage and destroy everything in his path. Matt and Al...They would be sad for a while, but let's face it. They lose important humans all the time. That goes for all of the countries. Zack...I don't know. He might get depressed, but there are other fish in the sea. He'd get over it...

Maybe...

I really don't want to leave Renae alone. There's no telling what would happen without me to protect her.

But...I could potentially be saving the world by committing suicide.

There was a large tree in a park by the river with branches hanging out. That was perfect.

Walking over the bridge, I feel calmer than I had ever felt this whole darn trip, even if I was stiff.

Passerby's give me funny looks, but, hey, who cares? I'm saving their sorry butts.

I'm off of the bridge now, my sights set on that tree. That one tree, the savior of human-kind.

At the base of the tree, I stop abruptly. D-do I really want to do this? Peering over the fence that separates the river from the land, I'm my eyes are lost in the water.

I tear myself from the fence and walk back towards the tree.

I-I...I don't want...

I pull myself onto the lowest branch. Half of me screams in approval, while the other half sobs hopelessly. I can feel the rough bark under my palms, but I'm kind of in a daze, like nothing is real.

No...Stop... I don't...

I grab a fistful of my hair and feel myself jump down from the branch.

Come on, Issa. Don't be a wimp. Just do it. It's for the greater good.

I'm back on the branch, reaching up to grab the next one up. My hands are shaking like never before. I'm climbing higher and higher, tears pouring down my face. I want to stop. I want to be free. I want to go back to before, before any of this ever happened. I just want to be safe.

I'm level with the branch that hangs over the river. Now all I had to do was jump off...I'd be dead, the world would be safe from Germany...

But...I-...I d-don't...

I cling to the tree trunk, sobbing harder than ever. "I don't want to die!" I cry out. "I don't want to die!"

"Then don't!" A voice yells.

What? Who-...

Looking down, I notice a girl a few feet below me. She had brown hair with a few caramel-blonde streaks. Chocolate brown eyes peered sadly at me through the tangles of hair that had stuck together because of the snow. "Then don't!" She calls again. "If you don't want to die, just come down!"

"N-no!" I yell. "You don't know how important it is that I die!"

"You're right," She says while climbing higher towards me. "I don't. But...can I try to help?"

I shake my head, clutching the trunk tighter. "There's nothing you can do!"

She's on the branch under me now, standing so that our heads were leveled. "Please. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

I shake my head again, gulping back tears. "I can't."

"You can," She contradicts, now brushing snowflakes out of my hair.

"You wouldn't..."

"I wouldn't what? Understand? Try me."

I glare at her. "My blood powers the most powerful bomb in the world, and if I die, no one can activate it. Happy now?"

"...You were right. I don't understand being in that situation. I assume that going to the police won't help?" She says, watching me make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I can't believe you just cracked a joke like that..."

She laughs. "Come on, let's get you down."

I just kind of stare at her while my mind races. I could just end it all. Germany wouldn't have anymore blood. But...Zack. Renae. Josh. Josie. Matt. Al. Arthur. My friends' faces flash through my mind as I finally decide to get down.

XXXXXXXXX

The girl introduced herself as Lauren. She told me that she was a Brit who learned Japanese, German, French, Chinese, and Russian because of an anime.

Sounds familiar.

I would say she was short, but I think everyone is short, being 5'8", and all.

She had brought me into a coffee shop, and of course, that didn't make me feel better.

"So," She said, sipping on her expresso. "Do you have anything to do with all of the weird stuff going on? I mean, a couple days ago, I swear, something happened back in England. I don't know what, but SOMETHING happened."

"Uh..." I mumble while fidgeting on the chair. "Have you heard of the anime called Hetalia?"

She perks up. "No way! I love Hetalia! Wait, why?"

"Would you believe me if I told you it was real?"

"It depends...How much information do you have?" Lauren asks, pouring sugar in her drink.

"Weird stuff in England, and most likely Canada and Germany."

"They're real?" She asks in disbelief. "Have-...Have you met them?"

I nod. "Some of them. You're not a big Germany fangirl, are you? 'Cause he's kinda evil."

"More or less than Russia-evil?"

I laugh. "Much more. Russia's a big sweetie."

Lauren jumps up and down in her seat, a wacky grin plastered on her face. "You've met Russia? Who else? Who else?"

"Um, The Allies, the Axis, Austria, Hungary, Prussia, Canada, and Cuba, for a little bit."

Lauren jerks forward, spitting the coffee out of her mouth in excitement. Coughing slightly, she asks, "You-...You've met PRUSSIA?"

I laugh slightly, helping her wipe up the spill with a napkin. "Yeah."

"NO WAY! Was he awesome?" Lauren's chocolate eyes widen with pure giddiness as her voice lowers to ask the question.

"Yeah. He's not power-hungry and sadistic like Germany. He tried to teach me Japanese back before Japan..."

"So, you speak English? Why are we talking in Japanese?" Lauren asks.

"It's...It's complicated...Japan made a translator gun-thingy that makes me speak Japanese. I can still understand English, but whenever I try to speak it, my brain just kinda scrambles around until I'm speaking Japanese. It's really annoying," I explain with a scowl at the wadded up napkins on the table.

"No way...That sucks..."

"Yeah...I don't know why Japan went with Germany's plan. Last I checked, Japan had renounced war."

"I wonder why Germany's like this in the first place. He's mostly just so cute and socially awkward," Lauren said without embarrassment. "So, how did you get dragged into this mess?"

I take a deep breath and sigh. "Where to start...It's kinda hard to believe that this happened 'bout a week ago. Feels like forever..."

I take a packet of sugar and dump it on the table. Swirling it around with my pinky finger, I start to explain. "I was in class. Germany, Japan, and Italy walked in and took me and another boy, Josh. They cut my hair to make me look like America, and we were separated. They kidnapped a girl that looks like China, Jia Li, a boy that looks like Russia, Dimah, I think his name is, and a boy that looks like France, Harvey. I think. I don't know those two very much." I push the sugar up to make a little sugar-mountain and then crush it with my index finger. "Jia Li and I escaped and ran into Iggy, then we met China and America, then I stopped Cuba from hurting Canada when he was in one of those rages. We found out that I wasn't like America, but more like Canada, and that if you followed the patterns, someone who really was like America would be kidnapped."

I sweep the sugar pile into a napkin and crumple it up. "We found him, Zack, and saved him." My voice broke a Zack's name, but I kept going.

"So, I tried to go back home, because they thought I wasn't in danger anymore, but the next day, America and Canada came back because they found a video that England accidentally took that Germany captured Germany because he wanted my whereabouts. England...He-...he didn't talk, and now, he's insane because of something Germany did...That's probably what's wrong in the country England..." I trail off, tears threatening to spill. Lauren scoots her chair next to mine and puts her arm around me.

"So," I continue while wiping my eyes. "Switzerland-...oh, derp, that's right I met him and Liechtenstein- saved him and Josh from Germany. Harvey and Dimah were released, probably because they weren't important to Germany's first plan. I-...kinda-sorta-mighta...kissed Zack a little... and maybe-sorta fell a little in love with him, but Germany knew, or guessed that, and kidnapped him and my little sister, so I would take the bait and he could activate the bomb and kill everyone. And, I kinda ran away from Austria's house and that's where we met. The end. Questions?"

Lauren is stunned for a few seconds, then asks, "What was Germany's first plan?"

"Good question," I say. "I don't know. But his second plan is to take me, kill anyone who gets in his way, and blow the world up."

Lauren cracks a smile. "So, instead of drawing a circle and seeing the Earth, he's drawing blood and NOT seeing the world."

I facepalm. "Yes. Thank you for that image, Lauren."

"Wait, did you say you ran away from Austria's house? Girl, we gotta get you back! Besides, Germany or Japan could be anywhere!" The quirky girl grabs my hand and starts dragging me out the door. I hear her mumble, "And I really want to meet them."

"Heard that!"

After a few minutes of Lauren leading me, she stops and turns to me. "Where are we going?"

Facepalm.

"Follow me..."

XXXXXXXXX

I manage to get us back to Austria's house, with me only getting us lost a few...dozen...times. I was blushing madly as I entered the house. Almost at once, Austria came up shrieking at me about how irresponsible I was, and did I know how worried he was, and he thought I had tried to free Zack and Renae myself, and who the Mozart was this. I smiled at him, contradicting his angry face. "This is Lauren. She helped me when I needed it most. I'm really sorry, Austria. I promise it won't happen again."

He sighs and walks off grumbling. Looking over at Lauren, I saw that it was probably lucky that she was frozen with excitement, otherwise Austria would've been death-glomped.

I laugh and wave my hand over her eyes. She jerks out of her fangirl-trance and stares at me. "Th-that was really Austria?"

"Yup. In all of his OCD glory."

A small fangirl squeal passed her lips as she looked ready to pass out. I smirked, "Dude, get up. You can't meet the others if you're asleep."

"Who else is here!" She shrieked, tugging on my sleeve.

"Um, America, Canada, England (But he's not in the right mind...), Hungary, Russia and France. And Josh, Harvey, Dimah, his sisters, and Zack's sister, Josie are somewhere around here."

Lauren jumps up and down, an ecstatic grin on her face. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

I lead the excited girl to the hospital room, warning her, "Um...America and Canada are kinda...distraught, and Iggy...He's...Well, if you get too close, he'll start screaming about monsters."

She takes on a solemn face. "'Kay."

Lauren actually talks seriously to America and Canada, proof that fangirls CAN control themselves.

Sometimes.

She tries to comfort America (Matt was taking his turn sleeping) and he actually makes a consolable attempt in conversation. Without warning, Lauren stands and moves closer to England, who was sitting cross-legged and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt uncomfortably. "Can I sit with you?"

"Will you eat me if I say no?"

"Nope."

"Alright..."

Lauren sits next to Arthur, looking curiously at him. "Arthur, what color are my eyes?"

England thinks about it for a minute. "Brown."

At this, both Al and I jerk up, looking at him. "Really?" Al asks. "What color is her hair?"

"Brown."

"Wh-what color are my eyes?"

"Red."

The hopeful look in Al's eyes crumbles. "A-are you sure?"

England cocks his head to the side, like a small child. "Yes."

"Artie, please!" Alfred yells. "Please! You know me! I'm your little brother! You know me! You know..."

England looks at him, then at me, and then Lauren, then back to him. "No, I don't."

**OOOOH, BURN! /shot/ **

**I got bored of writing this chapter. Reviews for not ending on a cliffy? Well, kinda.**

**Hmmmmmm**

**GOT IT!**

**CHUUGOKU, ARU! You get to kiss China, aru. **

**aru, aru, aru, aru, aru, aru, aru, aru, aruuuuuu~~~~**


	19. I REGRET NOTHING

**Holll-eee kuuu-raap. 196 reviews. I. LOVE. YOU. ALL. SO. MUCH. XD XD XD XD! **

**Chuugoku kisses fooorrr: Athesia, teenbooks4eva, Art and Soul, (my acknowledgments to the crumb thief...You didn't review chapter 32, but you reviewed the first chapter!), TheRoxelShow, MewMewRuby, Kumatheawesome, InsanityAintOptional, Scarlet daydreamer, Ulquiorra4Espada, xXMeitanteiKuroChiXx, CelticGirl7, AceFourteenAce, Myrna Maeve, and EpicHetalia. AND...Canada kisses for xXMeitanteiKuroChiXx AND Russia kisses for Art and Soul, AND Prussia kisses for xXMeitanteiKuroChiXx, AND Spain kisses for CelticGirl7. **

**Sorry if I missed any! Just yell at me or something in a review/PM for being oblivious. ^_^**

**OKAAAY. For the 200th reviewer, I'll use your name for either the Italy, Germany, or Japan lookalike. Just tell me your name (or a name you want to be for any of those guys.), which lookalike you want to be, and your personality. You'll be fourteen-fifteen-ish. Just FYI. ^_^ ****

**And no, I'm not procrastinating on this, I promise! I've just been busy, and the fact that I don't have my own computer prevents updates. CURSE ME AND MY INABILITY TO HAVE MY OWN COMPUTER! DX I'm serious, the only thing I think of is this story and ideas for it! *sobs* I WANT MY OWN COMPUTER! DX**

**Okay...So...This is chapter 33! Or, I REGRET NOTHING. Enjoy and review~~~**

Issa's POV

I watch America's face fall, tears starting once again in his eyes. How could this be happening? He just met Lauren, but he didn't remember someone he spent centuries with? Was is because she was British? Or was it because she was almost as crazy as he was?

Lauren straightens her yellow scarf. Was it me, or did she just wince?...Before I can worry about that too much, she starts to talk in a firm voice. "Listen to me Arthur. You aren't crazy, do you understand? Issa and Alfred aren't monsters."

She receives a slow, uncertain nod.

"Good. Now tell me..."

Suspense builds as she pauses, probably choosing her words carefully.

"Why in the name of Hungary's frying pan are your eyebrows so bushy?"

Cue group facepalm.

"Lauren-" I start, but I'm interrupted by a different voice, one that I haven't heard talking sensibly in a long time.

"WHAT? My eyebrows are perfectly normal, thank you very much! There's nothing particularly abnormal about my eyebrows! Why does everyone think that?" England yells at Lauren while facepalming. Lauren, however, didn't seem fazed by the sudden burst of anger. In fact, she seemed excited about this, as she continued to egg him on with an evil smirk on her face.

"Yeah, they are! And has anyone ever told you that you SUCK at cooking? 'Cause you do."

England turned red with pure anger as he sputtered unintelligible syllables furiously. "WHA-? Why, You- I CAN NOT- I'm going to- You ungrateful little-"

"Yeah, I just went there," Lauren said while snapping her fingers. "I mean, really. How did you SURVIVE eating that scum? Scones, kidney pies? What are THOSE about? Really? How did you even think of those things?"

England couldn't even make a coherent sentence as his face flushed a deeper crimson than I thought possible.

Suddenly, something clicked. I remembered how England had seemed okay when he was angry at Josie for waking him up rudely. "That's it..." I whisper, my eyes widening.

"Going back to the eyebrow thing," I say loudly. "They're like two giant caterpillars. Just say'n."

I receive the most powerful death-glare that I had gotten in a long time. "It's SAYING, and NO, THEY BLOODY WELL AREN'T!"

"Yeah, they are!" Lauren said, catching on. "And they're not even like eyebrows, they're just like these little lines!"

While Lauren tried to make him furious, I nudge America, excitedly grinning and jumping up and down. "Make him as angry as possible! He's normal when he's angry. Just make fun of his eyebrows and cooking, use bad grammar, anything!"

We annoy him for a few more minutes, watching in awe at how much like himself he was when he was hating our guts. But soon, England just exploded.

"ENOUGH! What's WRONG with you monsters! Just leave me alone, just LEAVE!"

America looked hurt. "But- but- but you were okay! You were you! How- how-...What happened?"

"Insanity poison, that's what happened, you git! And I intend to pay you back in kind for all of the insults you gave me just now! America, you are SO dead!" England yelled, grinning the whole time.

Wha-?

Was he...?

"E-England?" America stuttered.

"What?" England asked, still smiling.

"You-...You're..."

England sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you? You oblivious idiot."

"..."

"YES. Yes, you git, I'm okay! Gosh, I expected a bit more than this!" England laughed, embracing America.

"ENGLAND!" I shouted, tackle-hugging the both of them. "You're okay! You're okay! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! You- you didn't tell him anything, even though he was hurting you so badly! This all happened because of me! I'm sorry!"

He laughs, squeezing me and America, who was crying in relief. "It's okay, love. There's no way you could've known if Germany would take me or not, and it was my choice not to tell him. It's not your fault," He says gently.

"Lauren, get your British butt over here and join our group hug!" I yell at her through cascades of happiness. She has no problem obliging as she sprints at us. I could hear her fangirl-squeeing.

Later, Canada woke up because of the excited noise and is pulled into the group hug.

When we finally let go of each other, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. We were all just so happy, and relieved and thankful that none of us cared about our dignity right now.

It seemed that our unmuffled emotion had attracted the other countries. Russia had just entered the room, asking, "What is all of this-"

He never finished.

...Because of a certain brunette fangirl hurling herself at him, yelling, "I REGRET NOTHING!"

"Lauren!" I shout, half exasperated, half hysterically laughing. I run over to where Russia is now lying in a dazed heap on the floor, being attacked with fangirl hugs, and probably wondering what had just hit him. I take one of her arms and pull. "Lauren, get up! You can't become one with him yet!"

When I succeed in prying her off of Russia, I quickly try to apologize to him. He seemed to think Lauren was as psychotic as Belarus, as he was shaking and on the verge of tears.

Then, I hear France laughing. "Onhonhonhon, who is this young girl with void, mon cherie Issa?"

"This is- LAUREN, NO!" I shouted to the girl who had the gall to tackle-hug the blonde nation.

She looked at me after she had successfully bowled France over and said these three happy words:

"I regret nothing!"

France smirked up at the girl. Before something most likely perverted could come out of his mouth, I warn him, "You'd better think about what you're going to say, Frenchie. I'd like to tell you that I can kick pretty hard." To Lauren, I say, "No, you can't become one with him either. Sorry."

She pouted, but got off of his cape. Oops, sorry. It's a cloak, non?

XXXXXXXXX

Through out the course of the next few minutes, I introduce Lauren to the other countries.

And try to prevent her from glomping them.

"Hey," She says while looking around. "Where's China, aru?"

I laugh at her obviously fake verbal tic, then look around myself. "Good question."

Canada, who was talking to France in French, looked up and facepalmed. "Ah, maple. I forgot to call him!"And he takes out a cell phone decorated with maple leaf stickers and dials a number. **"I guess that's what happens when the author-ess is too lazy to write about China," He adds. **

"**Canada?" I ask.**

"**Did you just break the fourth wall?" Lauren says, dumbstruck. "OH MY GOSH, YOU DID! HI PEOPLE READING THIS STORYYY!" **

**Lol. I got bored. XD Back to business...**

After a few minutes, he hangs up and blushes sheepishly. "Oops. He's coming now. Sorry."

"Is Jia Li coming, too?"

"Yes."

I smiled; I hadn't seen her in a while. And Lauren could speak Chinese, so maybe I could actually communicate with her.

If my boyfriend and sister weren't hanging over my head as a threat, things might actually be starting to get better.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After Canada had made the phone call, I started leading Lauren around the house, trying to find Dimah, his sisters, Josh, Harvey, and Josie.

They can hide pretty well.

While I was looking around, Lauren was asking questions. "Who's Zack?"

I jumped and accidentally slammed the door I was holding open. "H-he's not really-"

"I mean, how much does he mean to you?"

"Um...Well...Why do you ask?"

She pokes me in the arm. "Don't answer a question with a question. Bad grammar."

"Well...He-...He made me feel special. He made me like him more even when he was trying to let me choose...another dude," I say, turning to open the next door so I could hide my blush.

"Mmm. And who's the 'other dude'?" she asks, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

"No one," I answer a little too quickly.

She thinks for a while. "It's that Josh guy, isn't it? I heard you say you were first kidnapped with him. You guys probably had an emotional bond with each other in your time of need. Am I right?"

"Noooo..." I lie, holding the syllable out, stretching it out like I was to the truth.

"Hm," She says, but thankfully, she doesn't inquire further.

After a few more doors, I finally find Josie and Josh. Josh seemed to be trying to talk to Josie, but she was getting mad at him pretty quickly.

I clear my throat before Josie could snap and probably kill him, and their heads whip towards the door.

"Hey, guys, this is Lauren," I say. Josh limps towards me. I think he's going for a handshake from Lauren, but he hugs me. I awkwardly pat his back, ignoring the smirk from Lauren. "Shut up..." I mumble, glaring her.

When he lets go, he turns to Lauren. "Hi there," He says. "I'm Issa's boyfriend, Josh."

**DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN**

**MAN! Sometimes I just hurt my brain writing stuff like this! **

**SO. Be the 200th review, get your name used as one of the Axis lookalikes. Your choice. ^_^**

**AND...How about Iggy kisses, you know, cause he's NOT CRAZY ANYMORE! XD TAKE THAT, GERMANY! XD**

**Heh heh heh. I bet none of you were expecting that! OR THIS:**

**Snap, crackle, pop, RICE CRISPY'S! **

**Heh heh heh. I don't own that. Or Hetalia. FYI.**

**How 'bout this: we are FARMERS! bum bum bum bum bumbum bum! **

**XD**

**I'm in a randommmm moood.**

**QUICK, LOOK, A DISTRACTION! **

**Oh, wait, that's the review box. (you should click on that.)**

**XD**

**FLYING MINT BUNNIES, GERMAN PRUSSIAN SPARKLE PARTIES, EVERYDAY I'M SHUFFLIN', ARTIC BANANAS, I'M SEXY AND I KNOW IT, PUFFER FISH, GIRAFFES, ALLIGATORS, PURPLE PEOPLE EATERS, BRITISH ACCENTS, HATSUNE MIKU.**

'**nuff said. **

**K, I love you all, bye bye byeee**


	20. I hate needles filler chapter

**ABFLJHABFLKVABLKBHVALH 212 REVIEWWWWS! XD XD XD! **

**IGGY KISSESSSS FOOORRR: Art and Soul, Ayai, InsanityAintOptional, Ines Bonnefoy, Athesia, Ulquiorra4Espada, .Sisters, Myrna Maeve, CelticGirl7, emz and bellz, xXRedPokerGirlxX, TheRoxelShow, el18m, and crumbthief.**

**Man, I just love you guys so much! X'3**

**So, InsanityAintOptional is our 200th review, so the Germany lookalike's name is Sydney! **

**Yeah, so if you all were confused about why this had shown up yesterday or so, but still had 33 chapters, it was because I fixed the first three chapters. *coughgolookatthemcough* *coughadvertisingcough***

***more advertising* Art and Soul is writing a companion fic for this, and she's doing an awesome job! Now, go look up 'Lauren's Story' and review please~~ the filler number two is really funny/sad! It's a parody of the song 'Hallelujah' by whoever the heck owns it! **

Issa's POV

"_Hi here,"_ Josh says. "_I'm Issa's boyfriend, Josh."_

Lauren looks at me with raised eyebrows, almost as if to say, 'Yuh-huh. Defiantly not this guy.'

I glare at her intently.

I vaguely notice that Josie has disappeared, but I'm too busy tensing, getting ready to punch Lauren if she says anything about what I told her.

**Meh. I'm too lazy to write dialogue in italics. *insert dialogue here***

When they're done meeting each other, we walk back out, looking for the others. Josie went somewhere, but I didn't see exactly which direction.

I open a door and Harvey is there, looking out the window, lost in thought. I tap the wall and he jumps violently. I nudge Lauren, and they begin speaking in French. Lauren plays with his hair, fangirl squealing.

After she meets him, I find Dimah, and the process repeats, and I learn that his sister's names are Vera and Alina. Alina seems about the same age as Renae...

I miss her so much...

While they are talking, I sit by the window. It stopped snowing, and now the sun was shining. Although it is, it has no impact on the shivers I feel. While I'm staring into space, Alina comes up to me. She asks something in Russian, tilting her head to the side. When I don't respond, she climbs onto my lap and feels my hair.

I am shocked for a second, mostly because of the contrast of her resemblance to Belarus and her personality. Then I run my fingers through her long hair. I never would've imagined that she would've done this, and apparently, neither does Dimah or Vera. They say something to Alina, and she just shrugs.

"Um," Lauren says. "They asked her how she knew to trust you."

"Oh. That's weird," I say, now weaving a strand Alina's hair into a braid, feeling her do the same. "D'you know what she first asked me?"

"Um...She was wondering if you were okay."

"Ah. I'm fine."

"They say that Alina isn't usually like this," Lauren translates.

"Huh," I say, finishing the braid. Alina hugs me, and I cautiously hug her back because of her side. I heard that this was the outcome of an abusive father. Dimah had scars on his arm, too.

I start to try to put Alina back on the ground, but she shakes her head and puts her arms around my neck.

I smile a little. Little kids are so sweet sometimes. "Hey, Lauren," I call. "I think she likes me."

She laughs and translates for the older ones. Dimah smiles while Vera comes and pats Alina's hair. "'Good for you, sister!' She said."

Lauren, Dimah, and Vera talk for a little bit, and I hold Alina on my lap. Soon, she falls asleep, her head on my shoulder. Noticing this, Vera comes over and takes her, rocking her in his arms. she asks something, and Lauren translates it to, "Are you okay now?"

I nod. "Sp-.._spasibo_?" **(Russian for thank you)** I say, pretty sure I was saying the right thing. She nods at the correct usage of my Russian and smiles, humming the Tetris theme.

I stand and walk over to Dimah, holding my hand out in a 'let me see your hand' type of gesture. He slowly puts his arm in my hand and I gingerly roll up the sleeves. I wince a bit, seeing the scars, but I look at Lauren, saying, "Can I go get medical help for him? Looks like he'll need stitches."

She nods and translates. Dimah quickly tries to deny help, say that he's fine, but I shake my head and pull him to the hospital room, Lauren and Vera (who was still holding Alina) following.

I get Liechtenstein's attention. "I think he need stitches. Can you...?" I trail off awkwardly as she nods. "Yeah, it's no problem!"

I watch as Liechtenstein sanitizes some needles. Dimah is edging away uncomfortably. Lauren laughs a little, saying, "I think he's afraid of needles."

"Aw, come on, Lauren," I say. "Being afraid of needles is nothing to be ashamed about. I'm afraid of needles!"

Lauren looks surprised, then quickly says, "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Just, he doesn't look like little things would scare him."

"Yeah. You'd think I'd only be afraid of the big stuff, too, considering all I've been through, but I hate needles with a burning passion."

I place my hand on Dimah's shoulder, trying wordlessly to comfort him. He doesn't look very reassured, though. "Can you tell him that it doesn't hurt once it's numbed?" I ask Lauren. She nods and translates. He nods, still cringing.

Dimah lets Liechtenstein approach him with the syringe full of painkiller. He whimpers when she shoots the stuff in his arm, but thankfully, he doesn't unleash the Russian rage.

Switzie would kill us all.

Dimah sighs with relief when the stitches are done, and then shudders when he feels his arm.

"There, doesn't that feel better?" I ask. He shrugs after Lauren translates. I laugh. He smiles a bit, and then exits with Vera and Alina.

**K, go read Lauren's story. I'm not gonna write what she wrote, but it's funny! **

Lauren hugs me. I had just ranted to her a little bit, and in song form, no less. **:3**

"Issa, do you know why I wear this scarf?" Lauren asks, plucking at the end.

"...I'm going to guess it has something to do with Russia?" I ask, cracking a smile. It slowly slips off my face when her somber expression doesn't leave.

"No, actually, it's because...Well, I'm supposed to be dead," she says.

I laugh. "I can't believe you'd joke about that...you almost had me fooled, Lauren-Chan!" Again, she doesn't smile.

Without a word, she begins unwrapping the sunflower-yellow scarf.

I gasp and feel myself pale at the horrible cut on her neck. It was a thin but deep cut that went all the way across her throat. Yellowish pus oozed out a little around the edges. There were red marks around it, like she had burned it.

"L-Lauren..." I whisper, terrified at my friend's pain.

"I know," she says sheepishly. "You see, I'm here because I'm dead in Britain. I haven't the foggiest why I'm still breathing."

I hug her fiercely, tears dripping down my face and onto her shoulder.

Wh-why would she do this to herself?

Was this the reason why she tried so hard to stop me earlier?...

"It's okay, Issa-sama. We're going to kick the wurst-lover's rear-end to Mars and back in a matchbox!" Lauren says comfortingly.

Just then, England walk in. He stops short when he sees Lauren's uncovered neck, and he struggles to make a coherent sentence. "What the bloody- No, I'm not even- Lauren, your neck!"

France walks in, laughing, "What is all of this commotion? Onhonhon-" He, too, stops short at the gruesome sight.

Lauren scoffs and makes a rude gesture at both of them and turns to me again. "Thanks for listening," I smile, wiping away any stray tears. She grins and nods before tackling France again.

I can't even tell who was laughing: The glomper, or the glompee?

**XD Funny funny! Review fooor...**

**hmmm...**

**How about Iceland? He's cute, right?**

**Iceland: I'M NOT CUTE! *angry but adorable face.***

**Review please! Sorry I didn't bring back China and Jia Li, or introduce the new characters this chapter, but my grandmother gave me my own laptop! It doesn't have wi-fi, so I have to plug it in when I want to post something, but I get to type on my own computer without being interrupted, so updates can come slightly faster now! XD Yay~~~**


	21. Sensing the nations

**Holy freaking hockey stick covered in maple syrup, 231 reviews! X3 I love all of you so much, words can't even describe how grateful I am to you! XD **

**ICCY KISSES FOOR: emz and bellz, Art and Soul, InsanityAintOptional, Scarlet daydreamer, CelticGirl7, teenbooks4eva, chipsivanna, Athesia, el18m, caset290, crumbthief, Myrna Maeve, TheRoxelShow, xXRedPokerGirlxX, blackstar778, and hetaliaforever123.**

**Okay, so, can some one tell me WHEN THE HECK DID THIS GET SO LONG AND DRAMITIC, BECAUSE I REALLY DON'T KNOW, AND I REALLY DIDN'T PLAN THAT! DX XD **

**I'm serious, I didn't think I'd continue this past twenty chapters...Ah, well. **

**Yeah, so my "new" laptop is old, and it doesn't have spell check. GOOD: No more annoying red lines! BAD: More spelling mistakes! I'm sorry!**

**Count your blessings, Mem. At least you have this new old computer.**

**Okay, I'm going to surprise you all at the end of this chapter. Eeeeviiillll suuurprrriiiiseee... If any of you read this, you are forewarned! Mwahahahahah! :D**

Issa's POV

My eyes open when the first rays of sunlight streams through the window. It was morning. That meant that I only had today to save Zack and Renae.

Joy.

I shove my glasses on my face and look around. I am in Austria's living room. I slept on the couch last night. On the couch parallel to mine, Lauren is still sprawled across it, her brown hair falling over her face, a few strands blowing up every time she exhaled. As I watch her in a completely non-stalkerish way, she mumbles, "I know, Mum, sorry...goodnight." She was dreaming, most likely of her home back in England.

Lauren, why did you kill yourself? What could you possibly gain by doing so? You had so much to live for...

I sigh, remembering how I had tried to kill myself yesterday. I had a reason to, though. The world would benefit because of my death.

Can she ever go back to her normal life back home?

Can I?

I stretch on the couch, hearing my elbows crack as I did so. Slumping back, I think of some plans with the variables we already had that didn't include me.

Maybe we could do a sneak attack...

Maybe a full-on attack...

We could let Russia have his way for once. Let him make Germany one with him...

What about Belarus? If Russia could pursuade her, she could go all psyco on his potato-loving rear.

I sigh, admitting my momentary defeat. I couldn't think of anything right now, but maybe later...Or someone else will think of something...

I just want them to be safe...

Suddenly, Lauren's head jerks up. "Where's the cannon?" She asks groggily. I laugh at the Harry Potter reference. "Just me, 'member?"

"Ah. Yes. When you see Flying Mint Bunny, tell him not to forget out tea-time is at four-thirty..." Lauren mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head. I giggle, placing my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. "Yeah, I'll tell him," I choke out through my laughter.

"Good...Dimah's invited..." She slurs. I think she is sleep-talking now. "C'mere. I wanna...tell ya somethin'..."

I crawl off the couch and walk over to hers. "'Kay, I'm here. What is it?"

Lauren's hand emerges from under the blanket, pulling me even closer so she could whisper in my ear. "Dimah's kinda cute...Think I like 'im..."

I laugh, pulling away. "Very nice. I'm happy for you."

"Can you tell him that?"

"No," I say with a smile. "That requires knowing how to speak Russian."

"D'ya like...that-...that one kid with the eyebrows or that- that other dude?"

I sigh, exasperated and amused at the same time. Why couldn't she drop the matter, even when she was asleep?

"I'm not here right now, please leave a message at the sound of the beep. *beep!*" I say, hoping this would confuse her sleeping mind. It does.

"Mmkay, hi Issa! Bye Issa!" Lauren chirps, withdrawing her hand.

I sigh, leaning against the couch. Suddenly, Lauren groans. "Why is it so bright?" She complains.

"You awake for real now?"

"Nngh...Yes...I talked in my sleep?" She mumbles, shifting a bit under the blanket.

"Yep. You made a Harry Potter reference. Then told me to remind Flying Mint Bunny about your tea-time at four-thirty, and then you said that Dimah was invited," I inform. "Remember any of that?"

"Nope. I never do. "

"Hm. Well, I hope you and Dimah have a happy life together," I tease in a whisper, grinning at her. Lauren facepalms. "Told you that, did I?"

"Juuuust a little!"

"Ah, well. Not like you can tell him anyways," Lauren says while stretching. "Wh-what time is it?" She asks through a yawn.

"I dunno. Seven-ish?" I guess. "People should be down soon."

Almost as soon as I said that, I heard footsteps. England ambles in, yawning and wincing slightly because of the whip gashes on his chest, which had been stiched up yesterday. He had changed into a clean white tee-shirt and a pair of red and blue checked pajama pants that had probably belonged to Austria at some point in time. His golden-blonde hair was even more touseled from sleep.

"Hey, England. You look better today," I comment. He jumps, not noticing that we were awake until I spoke. He looks at his attire and blushes. "Oh, good morning, girls, I'm sorry you have to see me like this!"

"It's okay!" Lauren smiles. "We're wearing PJ's too."

It was true; Hungary had found some of her old pajamas from when she was a kid and let us borrow them. I had put Zack's black sweatshirt over them. She had enough to fit all the boys, too. We hadn't found Josie yet, so we assumed that she hid in a room again. I don't blame her. Losing a sibling was hard, especially if it was a twin.

I miss Zack, too..

"So, you're my country," Lauren says, eyeing England's eyebrows but thankfully staying quiet about them. "I never got the chance to talk to you yesterday."

"Oh, yes, that's right. So, just for the record book, I am England, but my human name is Arthur Kirkland. As I think you already know..." He says politely then trailing off into awkwardness.

Oh, Iggy. You truly are adorable. **X3 love you, Iggy-kun! **  
>"So, want me to make breakfast?" I ask, standing up and walking toward the kitchen without an answer.<p>

"I don't think I'm the one to answer that, Issa. Oh, that reminds me," England says, turning back to Lauren. "You saved me from insanity and I don't know your name."

Lauren stands up. "I'm Lauren. And just so you know, the only thing keeping me from fangirl-glomping you is the fact that you're hurt," she says unblushingly as she settles with feeling his hair.

"...Oh... I now believe in this anime you talked about, Issa," he calls, untangling Lauren's hands from his hair. He has the classic, 'What the heck just happened?' expression on his face as he turns away. I can see Lauren silently fangirl-giggling behind his back.

Austria wakes up soon, and I get permission to use his kitchen. I make French toast, but I call them 'Breakfast pasteries' for England's sake. A few minutes after I put the first one on the griddle, America stumbles in, still half-asleep, muttering, "I smell food..."

I laugh and give him the first one. He almost falls asleep when he's eating them, but England slapped him on the head to keep him awake, from which he received a quiet, meek, "Owwie..."

"So, Issa," England starts while I'm cooking. "What happened since I...left?"

"Uh..." I say as I think, most of my attention on keeping the food from burning. "...I found out whose blood triggers the bomb...Does that count?"

"Yes! Whose blood? N-not-" he dropped his voice so the groggy man behind couldn't hear him. "-Not America's, right?"

I smile at the British man's secret caring for his younger brother. "No. It's Italy's. Which is bad, considering how attached he is to Germany. Don't worry," I add as England's emerald eyes widened. "he's here. Took a while, though."

England sighs with relief. "So, when did you learn Japanese? And why can't you seem to speak English anymore?"

"Um..." I say as I flip over a piece of toast. "A day or two ago, I don't really remember...and it's Japan's fault...His stupid translator gun broke before he could switch me back...Never thought he'd do this...then again, I didn't think Germany would, either...There's something wrong with them..."

"Kind of like Dark Japan," Lauren supplied as she claimed some toast. "Maybe there's a Dark Germany, too. Like, they took over Light Japan and Light Germany...I don't think there ever would be a Dark Italy."

"I think there might be...Like the Italian Empire...Or was that just Rome?..." I wonder aloud.

"Ah, yes," England says as a look of remembrance crosses over his face. "I remember that. Gave me quite a bit of trouble. It was a good thing they didn't go out on the sea, or my pirates would have been crushed, with their fighting tactics." **(Not historiclly accurate, just FYI. :3)**

I almost laughed. England was glad that ITALY didn't attack him? I just can't imagine that...

Canada and France appear next, followed with Hungary, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Italy, Russia, Dimah and his sisters, Harvey, and Josh, who was still limping. Still no sign of Josie, I think to escape the awkward tension that came when Josh walked in.

Josh hugged me when I gave him his food. "_What did I do wrong? You keep ignoring me, and I don't even know what I'm doing to cause that."_

Immediately, guilt washed through me. Sometimes I hated myself. Josh didn't deserve to be deserted, but I had already chosen Zack...I just couldn't make up my mind...

I gently pry myself from Josh's embrace to go check on the French toast.

It didn't burn. That was always a plus, right?

Right. When your friend/ potential boyfriend and sister were kidnapped, you had another friend/ potential boyfriend who thought of you as his girlfriend, your new best friend had killed herself and was somehow still alive, the fate of the whole world rested in your bloodstream, literally, and you were stressed beyond relief, not burning food just made everything better.

"Nyaaah, Issa, I'm going to poke you!" Lauren sang as she pokes me in the arm. "You look down," she pointed out.

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry," I say, smiling and poking her back.

Lauren waits until I have my hands free before dragging me into a corner where we could talk freely. "Issa, you aren't planning on giving yourself up, are you?" she asks seriously.

"What? No, that's crazy! Why would I do that?" I laugh. Such a fake laugh. I wasn't going to actually make the same stupid mistake twice, but I laughed to make it seem like I wasn't weighed down by everything on my mind.

"Truth, please. I need to know that you won't do it," Lauren demands, hands on her hips.

"That was truth."

Lauren's eyes narrowed. "Please, I'm telling the truth! I've made that mistake before, and I don't plan on doing it again," I cry, drawing an invisible 'X' over my heart to prove my point. Lauren glares at me for a moment, trying to decide if I was lying or not. Then, she nods and pulls me into a hug. "I swear, Issa, if I find out you gave yourself up, I'm going to go to Germany, steal you, Zack, and your sister, and personally extract every last drop of blood from you, and that's a promise," she threatens as she releases me.

Within minutes, Lauren was back to her usual, bubbly self. "Isn't Switzerland so cute?" she whispered to me, bouncing on her toes while watching said nation shoot targets outside. I giggle. "Calm down, girl. He's too old for you." This sends Lauren into gales of laughter.

Suddenly, there's a commotion outside. I could see Switzerland's green-clad figure run to the edge of the evergreens that started the forest in the background, followed closely by the pink of Liechtenstein's dress. "Hey..." I mumble, tugging on Lauren's sleeve. "Something's wrong..."

Lauren nods, pulling on her snow boots while I do the same. We run outside, the snow crunching under our feet.

We make it to the row of pine trees, our breath fogging around us. Our tracks mingled with Switzerland's and Liechtenstein's, but Switzerland's went further, into the woods. Liechtenstein stood anxiously, and she jumped when she saw me. "Oh, no, Issa, you need to go back in and hide!" she whispered urgently, flapping her arms at me. "What? Why?" I ask.

Liechtenstein casts a scared look at the woods behind her, then turns to me again. "Brother thinks he saw Mr. Germany, Mr. Japan, and Mr. Italy back there."

"But that's not right!" Lauren exclaims. "Italy's inside; I just saw him a few seconds ago!"

She nods, her purple ribbon bouncing with her movement. "That's what's so suspicious! Please, go back inside! What if it really is Mr. Germany?" She begs me.

I nod, backing away a few steps before running back inside. I really didn't want to be in here; I wanted to make Germany pay, but some part of me knew that there was only a slim chance of suceeding.

Without taking off my boots, I shut the door after Lauren and high-tail it to the window, my cheeks red from the cold. I could just barely see Switzerland's outline wrestling a person out into the open. Two other figures followed, trying to make Switzerland let go of their companion.

Switzerland whips out his pistol, pointing it at the person with blonde hair tucked into a green cap. In answer, the person wearing a blue coat unsheaths a sword and pulls Liechtenstein close, holding it to her throat. I notice that the person seems uncomfortable with her so close. The red-haired person drew a gun and pointed it at Switzerland. They all went still at the same time. No one moved.

Except for me.

"Switzerland!" I call as I run out the door again, Lauren trying in vain to hold me back. "Stop!"

Switzerland doesn't turn, or even give a sign that he heard me, but the red-head pointed the gun towards me. I put my hands up over my head to show that I'm unarmed.

"Go back inside," Switzerland growls. "Now!"

"No! Take a look at them! This isn't Germany, this is a girl!" I protest, walking slowly forward, all too aware of the gun pointed at my chest. The girl's cap had fallen in the snow, letting long, blonde hair tumble around her shoulders. Beneath a lumpy winter coat, her slim frame was obviously female. Switzerland grunts, noticing this for the first time. "I'll let her go when you release my sister," he barks at the person with the blue coat. The person had a black scarf wrapped around their face ninja-style, but large, intelligent brown eyes peered suspiciously at us. The red-haired boy makes eye contact with the scarf person. They both look at their trembling friend, and their eyes flicker to the pistol aimed at her head. Slowly, the sword comes down and Liechtenstein runs, clutching Switzerland's coat sleeve. With everyone's weapons finally down, I walk slightly closer to the odd trio, who were silently checking up on their comrade.

"Issa," Lauren growls. "I am going to bloody kill you unless you get back here. Right. Now."

I look at her with pleading eyes. "Please, Lauren. I just thought of something!"

She snarls, unpleased with my decision, but makes no move to stop me as I cautiously advance.

I look at the group. "Is everyone alright?"

They stare at me.

"My name is Issa," I awkwardly continue. "That trigger-happy dude over there is Vash, his little sister Lilli, and my friend Lauren. Who are you?"

The girl with the blonde hair stands up. "Sydney," she says.

"What're you doing, Syd?" the red-head gasps in an Italian accent, pulling on her sleeve.

"She stopped Guns. I say we trust her," she contradicts, jerking her coat out of his grasp. "That's Alesso, but he'll kill you if you call him anything other than Alex," Sydney says, meaning the red-head. "And the quiet one is Rin." Rin bows respectfully. I notice that her eyes follow the scar on my cheek.

"So, may I ask why you came here?" I inquire, mimicking Rin's bow.

"No," Alex snaps, finally placing his gun in its holster; it had been held loosely at his side before.

"Shut up, Alex, she's helping!"

"How d'ya know she's helping? She could be one of _his_ spies!" Alex glares at Sydney, his voice lowering in anger.

"She's not! She could've let Guns kill me if she was a spy!" Sydney whispers back.

"Um, if it's any help to you guys," I call over their hushed arguing. "I'm not a spy."

"See? Saying you're not a spy just proves you are one!" Alex almost yells, pointing an accusing finger at me.

"Are you a spy?" I ask, looking at him.

He scoffs. "Of course not!"

I nod in triumph. "Okay. You're a spy."

Alex sputters indignantly. "Wha-? No, I'm not! I just told you that!"

"I just told you I'm not either," I reply.

Alex glowers at me in defeat but remains silent.

"It's a long story," Sydney says in answer to my question.

"Do you guys want to come in and warm up?" I offer. "No, I won't try and kill you, and I'll make sure no one else does."

Alex grumbles, "Are you freaking kidding me?" Sydney slaps him on the back of his head, much like I've seen England do to America. "Yes, that would be nice," she says to me.

Switzerland looks at me in shock. "Issa, what are you doing?"

"Making a plan," I say vaugly, leading the three into the house. Lauren stares at me. "It's okay," I promise her.

The three put their snow-soaked coats by the fire. Rin finally takes her scarf off, revealing chin-length, jet-black hair and a kind face, although she nervously skitters away if we get too close. Alex, his red hair wet, keeps his hand on his gun, almost as an empty threat. Sydney, however, seems to have completely gained our trust, grinning and leaning back on the couch. She had tied her wet hair up into a ponytail.

"So...What's with, uh, Vash, you called him?" she asks.

"Oh. For one thing, he loves his guns a bit too much. I think he attacked you guys because he thought you were someone else," I explain.

"Did you notice anything...weird about him?"

"No, not really. Why, did you?" I ask.

She nods. "And his sister. Are-...Are us three really the only ones who can sense them?"

This question brings me up short. "Them?"

"Syd, you'd better shut up," Alex warns in a low voice. "They could be bounty hunters, just like him."

"But how can they be bounty hunters if there's two here?"

"Two what?" I inturrupt.

"Okay, you're going to think this is really crazy, but-" Alex cut angrily into Sydney's explanation. "Sydney, don't tell them any more."

"What if I tell you the crazy, messed-up story that brought me here?" I ask. "How I got this?" I add, running my finger gently over my cut.

They exchange silent glares, almost as if they're arguing in their heads. Finally, Sydney says, "Yes."

"Okay, so this started about a week ago, at my school in Washington D.C.. Me and a boy named Josh were kidnapped and taken to Germany by...Well, there's no easy way around this. We were kidnapped by nations."

Sydney, Alex and Rin all visibly pale. "N-nations? Y-you know about them?" Alex chokes out, his surly attitude dropped.

I nod. "Is that what you mean when you say you could sense them? You can sense a nation?"

Sydney hesitates, then nods. "Yeah."

"So, they cut my hair to make me look like America. Oh, right, 'they' meaning Germany, Japan, and Italy. Then, they wen't out and took a girl from China, a boy from France, and another boy from Russia who all look like the countries they're from. Following me? I know this is pretty hard to understand," I say, awkwardly scratching the back of my head.

"Course we are," Alex mutters. "We're not stupid."

"N-no, I didn't mean it like that, it's just, if it's this hard to explain, then I must not be doing a very good job retelling, 's'all," I say.

"No, of course you didn't. Alex here-" Sydney whacked him on the head yet again. "- is just being rude. Please, continue."

So, I explain, and I go into detail about how Germany cut me because I could see that it interested them, Alex included.

"...and then, that's where we met. The end," I conclude. They were all staring at me, their jaws slack. Then, Alex asked in a way that wasn't his own, "There are really that many nations here in one place?"

"Yep. Like I said, Germany kind of caused this all."

"I can feel them...I thought it was so strong only because Guns touched me..." Sydney says softly in wonder. "You had called him Switzerland, right? And you said that I wasn't Germany."

"Yes, Vash is Switzerland and Lilli is Liechtenstein. At first glance, we thought you guys were the Axis."

"So, I look like Italy?" Alex thought aloud. "He's one sexy beast, then."

"Alex!" Sydney cries, smacking him on the head again.

Alex glares at her. "You know, I'm going to have a bruise there someday."

"Whatever," Sydney says while rolling her eyes, which, I noticed, were the exact shade of Germany's. "Oh, right. Our story."

Sydney cleared her throat and begins to talk. "So, ever since we were born, we were best friends. We were drawn closer together by the people who mocked us. Stupid people, really. So, anyway, they were like that because one day, we had all felt the same shock run through us at once, but it's not like a static electricity shock because it hurt us until this man with a ponytail walked away. So, word of that got out, and when we were in sixth grade, this man came and abducted us. He told us that we were going to help him find the nations. So, we traveled a lot, and he used us like metal detectors, almost. He'd get all excited when we reacted, and he'd follow some man or woman after tying us to the nearest secluded pole, and then he'd come back and vent his anger out on us when they vanished. 'Venting', meaning he'd cut us or beat us up, or even burn us when he was really angry." Sydney explains while rolling up the sleeves of her black turtleneck to reveal a plethora of cuts, bruises, and shiny red burn marks. "That's why we kinda keep staring at your scar. The man- he never told us his name, and he used so many fake ones that we lost track- said there was one other who could sense them. She escaped, but he'd swear he'd find her because of the cut he left on her face."

I was in shock for a few seconds. Who would do such a thing? They all look so worn, the way a person could only look after years of abuse and starvation.

"Okay, let me tell you this," I say as I lean forward. "I'm going to make sure that this man is found and brought to justice. This place is really secluded and out of the way that only the nations know how to return here, unless they know what the front of the house looks like. Would you like to stay here while he's being hunted?"

Now it was their turn to be speechless. Then, Rin spoke for the first time in a soft, innocent voice, "Y-you would do that for us?"

"Absolutely. But, you might be uncomfortable with so many nations here at once."

Alex whispers something in Sydney's ear. She casts a glance at me and Lauren, and then at her battered arm, and then at Rin and Alex. They nod. "Yes!" she exclaims, her voice lowering to a whisper in shock and relief.

They all look so happy to be free. Rin is on the verge of joyous tears. Sydney jumps onto the seat between me and Lauren and throws her arms around both of us. Even Alex grins like a mad man.

Suddenly, they pause and shudder as one. "They're close..." Sydney says.

"I sense Maple, Hamburgers, Tea, and Roses," Alex comments, closing his eyes.

"Sunflower, Pasta, Piano, Guns, Ribbon, and Frying Pan are close, as well," Rin quietly supplies. "Panda is far, but getting closer."

"You named all the countries?" I ask.

"Yes. When one gets close, something about them kinda bounces back to us. Like, the first time it happened, we all just wanted to cuddle a panda, for some strange reason. Even Alex."

"That's so cool! Which one is strongest right now?" Lauren asks excitedly.

"Um...Maple," Sydney says.

Almost as if he was cued, Canada walked in. He is wearing his red maple leaf hoodie and blue jeans, the bottoms of which tucked into tan boots.

"Woah..." Lauren says, her mouth agape. Canada jumps, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. "Wh-what did I do?" he stutters, uncomfortable.

"Nothing," I say quickly to avoid questions.

Canada turns around and walks away in the direction he came, throwing careful looks at Sydney, Alex, and Rin. When he's gone, the trio relaxes.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, curious.

"It's kind of like something's heating you gradually, and the parts of you that aren't warm yet turn freezing cold. It's not very pleasant, but it doesn't hurt that bad," Alex explains. "I'm sorry I treated you the way I did earlier. It's just, sometimes, you've gotta be paranoid or you'll die."

"It's alright," I brush off. "I can kinda relate. When I was kidnapped, I didn't accept food the whole time I was there. They've drugged me once, and I'd rather not let them do it again."

"I've been drugged once," Lauren says. "at the dentist. It was the only way they could check my teeth."

We all crack up laughing at Lauren's remark. For a moment, we were all best friends, not a care in the world.

It felt good to have someone to call a friend.

No. No, Issa. Don't get attached to people. They'll be targeted. Anyone close to you will be.

"Hey," I ask on a sudden whim. "Have you felt anything that has to do with either beer or wurst?"

"Oh, you mean Potato-head?" Sydney inquires.

"Yeah."

"I think I felt him when we got closer to here. Sushi was with him. But, as we got closer, they got farther."

Lauren looks at me in panic. "Germany and Japan were here? Wh-what for?"

Suddenly, something clicks. There was someone missing from last night to right now. Someone who was close to Zack.

"Josie," I say in disbelief. "What?" Lauren asks, but I'm up and tearing through the house, searching for the missing girl.

I run- literally- into America as I search. "Issa?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

"Have you seen Josie anywhere lately?" I ask urgently.

"No, why?"

I don't waste time explaining; I just run, looking in each room.

I turn a corner and run into someone who mutters, "Ow!" and falls over, knocking me on top of them.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Josh!" I cry, rolling off of him.

He winces, clutching his shoulder wound; I think I might've just caused it to start bleeding again.

I gasp, kneeling next to him and pulling his shirt away so I could see if it was.

It was.

"You're bleeding!" I shriek, almost like a little child.

"_Hm?"_ he asks, then notices the blood seeping through the white shirt. "_Oh. I'm bleeding."_ He smiles at my shocked expression, adding, "_I'm okay, if that's what you're worried about."_

I suddenly feel tears prick the corner of my eyes. I'd been holding them back for so long, only adding more pressure onto my shoulders. Wiping at them furiously, I ask him, "Have you seen Josie?"

"_Josie? No, why? What's wrong? Aw, never mind, I won't be able to understand. But I'm here for you, alright?"_ He says, one hand cupping my face, the other stroking my hair. I close my eyes and put one of my hands over his, accepting his comfort. His forehead presses against mine, our noses touching. Josh's breath smells of cinnamon toothpaste.

What was wrong with me? I ch-chose Zack! B-but-...But Josh...

I-...I can't...

I don't want to make either of them hurt...

Everything stressing me floats across my closed eyelids, haunting me even further.

Germany...

Zack...

Renae...

Josie...

Josh...

Lauren...

Sydney...

Alex...

Rin...

I picture a flash of orange and white light enveloping my nation friends. When it fades, no one, nothing, is there. Germany emerges from the dying smoke, leering at me.

That's what would happen if he got a hold of mine and Italy's blood. But I wouldn't, couldn't let that happen.

It seems like there's no way out of it, though...

Blood splatters across my mind.

My blood.

No, I wasn't going to kill myself. That was definetely out of the picture.

But...

"A blood transfusion..." I murmur, pulling back.

"_What?"_ Josh asks.

I stand up in excitement. "A blood transfusion!" I exclaim.

"_I don't understand you, but you're happy. That's good!"_

I nod, smile brightly, and run back down the corrider. I sprint to the hospital room, and England stands there from having just come out.

"England, England, England, England!" I yell, bouncing on my toes in front him.

"What, what, what, what?" He asks, alarmed slightly at my intensity.

"Blood transfusion!" I shout, grinning.

"Wh-what?"

"I could get a blood transfusion, England! We could change my blood type!" I explain, talking rapidly.

"Issa, it's not that simple...What if your body rejects the new blood?" England asks, placing a calming hand on my shoulder.

"Have you ever tried it with my blood type before? We don't know what my body will accept, therefore, it could be anything!" I contradict.

"Exactly! By the time we find out which type is the best replacement, you could already be dead!"

"It's the only plan, England! Do you have a safer way? Besides, if I die, Germany still doesn't have any blood to take!"

"So you're willing to die for this," England accuses, his eyes narrowing.

"This is war, England! Sacrifices have to be made, and the one who started this should be the first to go!"

"You didn't cause all of this," England says kindly.

"Yes, I did. Inadvertantly, I started this," I argue, anger and shame flaring up inside me.

"You can't control what your blood type is, Love, nor the actions of another..."

"You know what?" I say, embarrassment replacing all other current emotions. "Forget I said that, okay? It was a stupid idea..."

"Issa," England calls, grabbing my arm as I try to leave. "You aren't planning on-"

I cut him off. "No, no, of course not. Yeah, last time that happened, it didn't turn out so good..."

"Good," he says, pulling me gingerly in a hug. I gently return the embrace, being careful not to disturb the wounds on his chest.

The ones that I had caused...

So much pain, I think as I walk away. Too much. This is a war over the blood of one shy freshman, someone whom should not be recognized as a threat.

Maybe someone whom should not be recognized at all.

Maybe I was better off alone.

No one to get attached to.

No one to hurt.

While I walk, lost in my thoughts, I bump into yet another person. Looking them in the face, a smile takes over my features, and I exclaim their name in joy..

XXXXXXXXXX

Alex's POV

I watch as Issa suddenly stands and flies out of the room.

"So...She does this often?" I ask Lauren.

Lauren sighs. "Think so. I've only been here since yesterday, myself."

"Oh, yeah? Who's hunting you?"

Sydney's hand slaps the back of my head.

Again.

Glaring at her in annoyance, I ask, "Are you going to do that after everything I say?"

"Only if it's rude or if it bugs me," she replies, hitting me yet again.

"No one's hunting me," Lauren says, fiddling with the yellow scarf around her neck. "I just stopped Issa from doing...something bad."

Suddenly, my body went cold, but my feet began to sweat. Slowly, the heat travels up my legs while my arms shiver. I feel the need to cuddle a big, fluffy panda bear.

"Panda's here," I announce, but Sydney and Rin already know. The door is knocked on, and Lauren jumps up to answer it.

The person at the door seems stunned by Lauren, and the way she can fluently speak Chinese. When they enter, it looks like there are two copies of one person. They are both reletively short with twinkling hazel eyes and black ponytails. But, looking closer, I notice that the smaller one is female, and shaking liberally. This girl, though, doesn't make us react. The strongest sense in the room is still Panda, but Piano and Frying Pan are getting closer. She was human.

The heating sensation reaches the part where my whole body was warm, but the cycle starts over, leaving my ankles at a freezing temprature. But this time, it goes faster and faster as more and more nations pour in the room.

I feel myself really wanting a hamburger, but I want to put maple syrup on it, too. Then, scones and tea seem like a good thing, but then I get a craving for pasta. Suddenly, I don't want food. I want to hit someone with a frying pan and frolic through sunflowers and roses while playing the piano. But then, I want to shoot the piano with a ribbon in my hair, all while snuggling a panda.

This was weird.

I'd get used to the hotness for a moment, but then I would be assulted by the frigid air. My reaction is so violent that it changes every few seconds. I am shivering, then sweating, then shivering again, and I can feel Sydney and Rin on either sides of me having the same uncomfortable sensation.

"Ooookay, let's get you guys away from here..." I hear Lauren say. Her voice is muffled by the roar of the pounding blood in my ears, but her hand guides us on our feet. She leads us out of that room. As we get farther and farther away, the cycle slows down, eventually stopping.

"Feel better?" Lauren asks. We all nod. "That must be hard," she remarks. "Not being able to hug them. They're fun to make uncomfortable. England gets so easily flustered."

"So, was that Pasta? Oh, I mean Italy?" Sydney asks, looking at my profile.

"Yep. He's kind of..." Lauren trails off looking for the right word. "spacey."

"Complete opposite of Alex," she mumbles. "He notices everything."

"While you're here, letting every detail slip past," I tease, fake glaring. She sticks her tounge out at me.

We're always like this. Being tortured just made you that much closer to the people around you.

"So, how long have you guys been running?" Lauren asks.

"Um...about three weeks," I supply. It's hard to keep track of time when you're trying to escape from a fate that seems inevitable.

"Where have you been sleeping?"

"Alleyways, forests, places like that. Can't really be out in the open for too long. You'd be caught really quick."

"When's the last time you've slept?" the brunette girl asks, concern laced in her British accent.

"We took turns. I think Rin's been up longest," Sydney says, wrapping her arm around said girl.

Rin did look rather tired; she had purple circles around her eyes, yet we'd never heard her complain once. When we ask her why she always offers to take the watch, the answer is always the same. "I want to make sure you two are safe. I care about you." Whenever we would put our foot down and make her get some rest, she would make us promise that we would be there when she woke up.

I think Rin had been abused the worst; the man didn't hurt her physically as often as he hurt her emotionally. He'd mock her; her small frame, the way she got happy over the little things, her willingness to protect Syd and me. He'd tell her she would never be able to protect us both, and to prove his point, he'd beat us right in front of her. We'd try to be brave for her, try to not cry out, but that's when he would pull out his lighter. Rin would be besides herself, thrashing against her bonds. Or, on some days, she couldn't take it. She'd go limp, her hands clamped over her ears to block our screams, tears streaming down her face, whispering, or sometimes shouting, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

As far as I knew, Rin only had one scar, from her shoulder to her heart. It was meant to be her demise, but the man was drunk that night, and the cut wasn't as deep as he had expected. I remember using my sleeve as a bandage, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. Rin had passed out, but amazingly, she was still alive the next morning. Syd and I took extra beatings in order to compensate for Rin's.

Lauren looks at us and seems at a loss for words. She rough a door, and clears her throat and says, "C'mere. You guys need some rest."

None of us want to, but we would rather go with the hospitality before it turned into hostility. She leads us to a door, and the sterile smell of a hospital surprises us.

"Wha-?" I mumble.

"You think I was going to let you guys go without medical help after the way you've been treated?" Lauren asks over her shoulder with a smile as she pulls out burn cream and bandages.

Now we are at a loss for words. "Thank you...Thank you so much," we all seem to repeat to her. She waves off our thanks, saying, "It's no problem, don't worry!"

With new bandages, Lauren leads us to a different room. "Do you guys want seperate rooms?"

Rin immediately jumps and clings to both of us. "No thanks," Syd explains for Rin's reaction.

"Okay! I think I'm going to share this room with Issa tonight, if you need either of us," she says, pointing to the room next to ours. "I'm pretty sure that there's stuff in there that you might need, like clothes and such. Now, I'm going to go look for Issa and kill her for running away like that. Bye!" And with that, the bubbly girl runs off, searching for her friend.

"That was odd," I remark, opening the door.

The room took my breath away! It was huge; three king size beds face each other, a graceful canopy over each one. Three handsome dressers stood by each bed. The walls were a deep, yet elegant crimson with turquoise curtains over the windows to complement the paint choice.

"Woah..." we all say in unison. That happens often; it was as if we had the same brain.

I laugh in disbelief and collapse into one of the beds. "Is this awesome or what?"

"It's amazing!" Syd exclaims.

"The design is beautiful..." Rin murmurs, fingering the bed post's curvy shape.

"Hey, Rin-Rin," Syd calls, using the special nickname for her. "You should go to sleep."

Rin looks at me and Sydney, then her eyes flicker to the bed. It was tempting for her.

"You will stay?" she asks. That was the only condition on which she would rest. The fact that we were still there, safe.

We nod, taking one of her hands each, guiding her to the bed. She lies down, reluctant and willing at the same time. Finally, she closes her eyes, and is asleep almost instantly. I push Rin's black hair out of her face and kiss her on the forehead, the way I always do.

There wasn't anything romantic about our relationship, however. Sydney and Rin are my best friends, and I would die for them, as they would for me.

I turn to Sydney. "Well, we survived another day," I say, same as every night since we were kidnapped.

"There's always tomorrow," she replies, smiling at our inside joke. She jumps on the bed next to Rin's. "I'm going to sleep. You think we can trust them to not murder us?"

"Yeah. This isn't a place for the countries if it's a bounty hunter's hoise," I reply, settling on the bed across from theirs. "Night, Syd."

"Night, Allie." I can hear the smirk in her voice all the way over here. She knows that I hate that name, and she does it to annoy me.

"Not getting to me tonight, Syd. Nice try," I say half-heartedly, refusing to let her get on my nerves. She doesn't respond, having already been claimed by sleep.

I can feel my eyelids begin to droop lower and lower. I take one last look at the room around me.

It's finally over. We're free, once and for all.

My eyes close and I drift willingly into a dreamless sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zack's POV **TIME WARP! WHHHOOOSSSSH! So, this would be around this morning, or sometime around then. ^_^**

I open my eyes to the sound of the door opening. In the dark, I can't tell who it is, or where they are. I put my hand protectively on Renae's shoulder, where she is still fitfully sleeping. "H-hello?" I call, the cold seeping past my clothes, chilling my voice.

There is no response, but a few clicks resound around the cell. A flash of light envelopes me, and I can't see the darkness around me for a few seconds.

I was suddenly in a white room, and words circle around me. With a pop, they turn into Japanese characters. The white room crumbles, and I am back in the dark cellar. Someone was unlocking the chains around my limbs.

The bodiless hand pulls me to my feet, keeping a firm grasp on me so I can't escape. "Hey, stop!" I cry, fighting against the unseen person. What got me was the fact that I didn't say that in English.

I just said that in Japanese.

"Wha-? What did you do?" I yell at the person. A calm voice replies, "Later."

"What about Renae? She's sick, I can't just leave her!"

The person is silent for a minute. "...She will be fine. I will see to it."

A harsh, maniac laugh escapes me. "Why? You want her to be well when you murder her?"

"Please calm down."

"'Calm down'? How do I know that you're not leading me to my death right now?"

"You don't."

"Exactly. I'm staying here." I say, my stubborn side making an appearance.

"Don't you want to see your sister?" the person asks slyly.

"J-Josie?" I whisper. Then I lunge, reaching for the neck. "What did you do to my sister, you ***beep***?"

Before my fingers could wrap themselves around his throat, he spun, using my momentum to knock me on the floor. "I suggest you stay calm."

"Suggest all you want, but I swear, if you hurt Josie-" the man cut off my threat. "Your temper is not apprieciated. I am more tolerable than Ludwig of your foolish anger. You are warned."

Renae's voice is suddenly heard, still pained. "_Z-Zack? Are you okay_?"

I crouch next to her. "I'm fine, Renae, but I need to go. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"

"_Z-Zack, you aren't speaking English...What's wrong?"_

"It's okay, Renae," I say gently, stroking her hair out of her face like I would to Issa. Turning in the direction of the man, I ask, "Do I have to leave her alone?"

"Yes. Only you."

"I can't explain to her where I'm going," I point out.

"She will be fine," the man replies, pulling on the back of my shirt. "Come now."

I hug Renae. "I'll be back, okay? Don't worry."

She hugs me back, trembling. "_Wh-where are you g-going?"_

I sigh, and direct my next line to the unseen man. "Come on, dude. She's scared."

He doesn't answer, but jerks me away with unexpected strength. "_Zack!"_ Renae cries in panic, putting strain on her already-sore throat.

The door is slammed shut, cutting off her terrified shrieks. I blink at the light. It hurts my eyes after spending so long in the dark.

The man is a reletively short man with jet-black hair and a crisp white military uniform. He has a traditional Japanese sword hanging in a sheath on his belt, the name of which escaping me. He marches me through endless hallways and up a couple staircases. He pushes me almost gently through a door.

This is the roof, I think. It's cut in half, a bar marking a ten-foot gap between the ledge I am on and the one with two figures. I recognize both of them.

"JOSIE!" I scream over the wind, running to the bar. Across the gap, I see Ludwig- or Germany, I think Issa called him- press a blade to my twin's throat. "NO! DON'T! PLEASE!" I beg, leaning on the bar.

Germany smirks across the way. "You don't like this?" he asks is mock surprise. I see beads of red start on Josie's neck. "Then, I suggest you do what I say."

Josie stares at me with wide eyes. "_Don't do it Zack,"_ she warns. Germany, in answer, forces her head back farther by her hair, exposing the thin cut even more. Little drops of my twin's blood roll down her neck, dribbling on the grey sweatshirt that she always wore.

"What do you want?" I ask, fighting to be heard over the wind that ruffled my hair.

"I want you to betray your girlfriend."

_**END OF BOOK ONE**_

**MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I DID warn you! **

**Yeah, I'm just really really really busy, and I need to be studying like, nonstop from now on, and I thought, 'Hm, this is long enough to end now!'**

**Don't worry, because I promise, promise, promise, cross my heart and hope to die that I won't drop this forever! **

**So, instead of kisses, how about some questions?**

**1) How would you react if this whole thing happened to you?**

**2) Do you have someone that you would die for? Would you betray this person if someone else important was in danger?**

**3) Do you like the new OCs?**

**RANDOM QUESTION: Do you like turtles? **

**4) Who's your favorite character? **

**5) What do you think the name of the next book should be? **

**Okay, I know you're all really mad at me, but please don't kill me! O^O;**

**Again, I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE that this is not not NOT the end! And the minute that I can start this again, I will! I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! :^: **

**So, I might get a couple of minutes free time, so if this shows up again and it still says complete, it's because I just re-did a chapter, and I probably won't forget to put which chapter I re-did!**

**I love you all so much, please don't abandon me because I ended it here! X.X **

**I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! DON'T HATE ME! O^O;**


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